At Day's End
by PhantomProducer
Summary: She was no hero. And he, without a doubt, was one. For all that, though, they were both human. In the end, he just needed help. And what little she could do for him, she would do.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. You can thank Marvel/Stan Lee/Disney/etc. for all the source material.

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><p>When the stranger came ambling out of the brush, Holly Martin didn't know what to think. Indeed, that entire day had been something so bizarre, so chaotic, that the appearance of the fellow did not make her wonder.<p>

Initially she'd thought he'd been a fellow witness to the events. She probably would've commiserated with him, were it not for the cold, dead look in his eyes.

She could only stand and gape, much like she had for the past several minutes.

It was her day off, and she had wanted to enjoy it. She had been on a walk in the park, one of those tiny little waysides that ran along the Potomac. She'd chosen to follow along Mt. Vernon Trail, one that she'd walked along dozens of times before, which allowed the illusion of woods though one could still easily see the government buildings and the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge along the opposite bank. It was something she'd gotten used to, with nothing very unusual apart from the occasional encounter with another person along the path. Pretty standard, really. When what appeared to be aircraft carriers ascended into the sky this morning, she was transfixed by the hovering machinery.

Those…things…rose up from the river, huge hovering monsters that could've crushed her neighborhood if they'd been dropped down there, and the morning warped into this weird amalgamation of science fiction and fantasy. Perhaps it shouldn't have made so much of an impact; Holly did hear about the attack on New York, after all. But that hadn't happened in her city, it didn't affect her life. The rumors spoke of aliens tearing up much of Manhattan, the Avengers fighting them off, and supposedly a launched nuke that had been thrown through a portal, but those were the basics. It was secondhand information, and it seemed too far away to really touch her.

Now she had seen something of that caliber, that disrupted her worldview and brought the fantastical much closer to home and to herself.

And then things started to go horribly wrong, at least with the machines. When the minor explosions started, she reacted the only way she could think of: she pressed herself behind a tree to watch the mayhem unfold, with the leafy canopy above as her only protection. Crouching low against the trunk, she winced and forced herself to watch, too stunned to move from her hiding spot. Glass shattered and metal pieces jettisoned from the wreckage. The carriers were launching missiles and taking pot shots at each other, malfunctioning harshly. The river was becoming little more than a glorified dump.

'_What in God's name is going on?'_ Holly wondered over and over again, instinctively ducking as another boom ripped through the air and one carrier nosedived.

In the midst of that chaos, though, she thought she spied people moving within the machines. She couldn't be sure, since there was no clear view that she could have of the insides. But there a shadow seemed to move, and something burst through the glass on the other side…it looked like a man with wings, but at that point she shook her head violently and thought the horror of the situation was beginning to get to her brain and make her hallucinate.

It seemed to go on for hours, but it could have only been a matter of minutes. Time had stopped existing, and she felt she had to watch the destruction. It wasn't safe to stay, and it wasn't safe to leave. She watched in terror as one of the metal beasts tore into the Triskelion (the SHIELD building: it was like the CIA, but sneakier, as far as she knew). Her jaw dropped as more debris fell into the river.

Holly silently prayed that anyone who had been in the building would be okay. She hoped that she wasn't watching dead bodies fall into the water as opposed to flaming machinery.

Once the last carrier had crashed and rested on the earth, once the blasts and booms had been silenced, she rose from her spot, blindly slipping down the trail and trying to comprehend what in the world had just occurred.

That was about the moment the man appeared, his lanky hair matting his face and his arm…shining, in the weak sunlight coming through the trees. She made no remark upon it at the time, merely just stared at him in surprise and alarm. His stiff posture intimidated her, made her insides coil in fright.

And his freezing eyes stared back at her, unnervingly. Though his glance was cold, his face was twisted in confusion, unconsciously mirroring her own expression. The stand-off lasted for seconds, but it felt like minutes to her.

Finally, his gruff voice cut the air, jerking a thumb backwards.

"Get help."

Abruptly, he turned on his heel and darted off through the trees, disappearing before she even had a chance to question him. Pursuing him was futile; she understood that even as she took a few steps towards his flight path. He was gone, and had left her to deal with whatever it was that he had discarded. Her feet sunk into the marshy ground as she plowed through the brush, stomach clenching in fear as she obeyed the stranger's order. This wouldn't be good, she knew that much.

When she broke through to the riverbank, she gasped loudly, and nearly swore in shock.

A body was laying there, a man, and he looked like he was barely breathing.

'"Oh my God, oh my God," she muttered, shivering hard at the sight. Tripping over her own feet, she stumbled forward, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she knelt by the man. Her voice failed to wake him as she called out, his face remaining impassive. The numerous cuts and scrapes flitted in and out of her vision as she struggled to maintain composure. Recognition hit her then, and that time she swore under her breath. Numbly her fingers dialed the necessary numbers, and after a short pause, a there was a calm response.

"911, do you have an emergency?"

"Yeah, I'm with this guy, he's unconscious and beaten up really bad…I think it's Captain America."

It had to be; given the media attention surrounding the Avengers over the last two years, it would've been ridiculous to imagine anyone else would willingly wear a star-spangled uniform besides him. Granted, he was banged up and waterlogged, but it was undoubtedly the great American hero.

"What's your name?"

She blinked; what did her name matter? "Holly. Holly Martin."

"Okay, Holly. Where are you and the injured party?"

Trying to wrestle down her fear and irritation, she began to rattle off directions to the dispatcher, glancing around every few seconds in the hopes that an ambulance would just magically appear that moment. In the midst of assuring them that no, she wasn't injured and no, there was nobody else around them, she found herself breathing heavily. Thoughtlessly, she gently prodded the fallen hero on the arm, to make sure he really was unconscious and couldn't answer the questions put forth himself. When the person on the other end of the line finally told her that help would be coming shortly, she felt a surge of relief rip through her body.

"Thank you, thank you. Oh God, oh God..."

"Miss Martin, don't panic. Just remain calm, and stay where you are. An ambulance is coming."

Her thumb swiped the "end call" button, and she laid a hand gingerly over the captain's hand, her fingers curling around his in a (hopefully, she thought) comforting fashion.

"Okay, okay. If you can hear me, help's coming. Help is coming, I'm not going anywhere," she rambled, watching his face to see if he was rousing. Perhaps his eyelids twitched, but at the time she wasn't sure. Nonetheless, he remained unconscious, and she sighed. "It'll be okay. You'll be okay."

She continued holding his hand, too terrified to do anymore than that. She pondered trying to move him, but squashed the idea in case he'd broken his neck or something. The whines of sirens in the distance bolstered her, allowing her to croon every half minute or so that the captain would be alright. She kept her eyes on him, or the riverbank, or on her knees as she knelt beside him, thinking that if she looked out at the actual destruction on the water she would have a full-blown panic attack.

Shouts broke through her mindless mantra, and made her nearly cry in joy.

"They're here, Captain, they're here."

Lights flashed as the ambulance was parked, the EMTs darting swiftly through the thicket to assess the patient. If they were stunned about the patient's identity, they hid their feelings remarkably well. Stabilizing his neck and body, they talked over her head, using medical terms she didn't understand. She was just grateful they were there, and that someone could help the captain.

Only when the finally loaded him onto the gurney and began hauling him away was she aware that his grip had tightened around her fingers. Holly's arm was tugged, and she was dragged to her feet to follow them.

"You'll have to let him go, Miss," the EMT nearest to her, a tall woman with graying hair, commented when they noticed her tagging along.

"I did," she replied, nodding down to indicate how her hand was relaxed, but his was holding on tightly. On some level, he knew someone was there and must not have wanted to lose that brief comfort she'd offered.

The other EMT shook his head. "We really don't have time to debate this. We have to get moving."

His partner agreed, and jerked her head towards the truck. "You're coming with us, then."

Holly didn't protest; there was no point, really. She climbed into the back with her comatose companion, dully noting that she was glad that she at least had her car keys and wallet with her, so no one could steal her car or anything in it while she was gone. Her mind wandered onto another thought, and it took over her concentration while she maneuvered herself along the gurney and the vehicle roared to life. Taking out her phone again, she pulled up the search bar in her internet browser as one the technicians began to tend to some of the minor wounds on his face. She began to feel haggard, the adrenaline of the afternoon draining out of her as she swiped letters with her free hand. After a few moments, the search engine spit out the result she wanted, and she breathed deeply again.

"Okay...Steve Rogers, it's going to be alright," Holly whispered, feeling a bit stupid for not thinking to look up his proper name before that moment. She was aware as anyone else was of the Avengers, but beyond Tony Stark (because, to be honest, everyone and their mother knew who Tony Stark was) she hadn't remembered their names. For the present, though, she brushed aside her feelings of inadequacy and ran her thumb along his gloved knuckles. It had to be better than calling him by his title, she figured. "Almost there, Steve."

The ride to the hospital was a blur, with them arriving at an emergency ward that had descended into anarchy. Several people had been rushed in, rescued from the damaged Triskelion and in varying degrees of injury. She jogged to keep up as they pushed Steve's gurney along the halls, the staff bellowing for other to make room as they passed.

As they brought him into an operating room that was not overrun as of yet, a doctor appeared at her side. He pressed his palm against Holly's shoulder. He had a kind face, laugh lines cutting into his forehead and his dark eyes filling with compassion. He began to draw her away as they began to cut off his clothing and attach apparatus to his body. "Miss, we're going to have to ask you to leave the room, please. We'll take care of him from here."

"Yes, I know, but-" Holly was cut off from the sudden pain ripping into her fingers. Steve's grasp had become incredibly hard, and Holly groaned loudly.

"Heart rate's climbing, doctor," one of the nurses chimed in, reading the meter and twitching up an eyebrow in surprise. The doctor looked at it quizzically, then back to the young woman. Clearly something was going on in the patient's mind that was allowing him to hang on so tightly, but it was imperative to separate the pair so they could treat the man. Mutely, his eyes appealed to Holly, telegraphing the urgency of compliance. Shrugging her shoulders, she moved a little closer to the gurney again, laying her other hand on his elbow and keeping her gaze locked on his face.

"I'll be here, Steve. I'm not going anywhere," she said, thinking that she must have sounded crazy talking to him. She tried to be soothing, but she felt silly as she kept speaking. "Okay? I'll be here. Please let go."

Slowly, hesitantly, he relaxed his clutch on her, the beeping monitor calming down as well. She bit her lip, moving out of the way and giving the doctors room to save his life. And true to her word, Holly left the room, but she did not leave the hospital. She did not leave him. A few policemen detained her in the corridor, getting a statement from her detailing exactly what she had seen and how she'd come to Steve's rescue. She told them the truth, and was shortly thereafter allowed to depart.

She found a waiting area, the couches and chairs littered with concerned family members and friends from all over the city. Unable to find a seat, she sat down on the floor in an adjacent corridor, and waited quietly. She drew up her knees, curling her arms around and resting her forehead against them. The events of the day kept circling in her mind, flitting from the carriers to the strange man and Captain America, and back. Now that she was able to process it, able to really understand what had happened, she felt so confused and afraid.

The fact that she'd been at the scene of the gigantic accident, and that had things gone a little differently she could've been dead from the falling debris, did not escape her notice. Tears seeped out of her eyes, but she did not wail. Her jaw was set as a headache began coming on. What if the stranger came to find her? What if Steve didn't make it? What, in the name of all that was holy, were those things and why were they allowed to exist in the first place? It all baffled her, and she could not come up with a reasonable answer to any of the queries posed.

The leftover dirt smeared on her face, but she didn't care all that much. There was no question of departing to tidy herself up. Her mind was made up; she wouldn't leave until she was told that Captain America...Steve...was going to be alright. He had to be alright. He just had to.

"Weirdest day ever," she muttered to herself, feeling as though truer words had never been spoken.

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><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>I will let you know right now...this story terrifies me. Why? Because Captain America/Steve Rogers is my absolute favorite superhero. And I am PETRIFIED of screwing around with his character or with the Marvel universe. I mean that, too. I really don't want to wreck this fandom for anyone with my writing this. That being said, this is one of those stories that will not leave me alone until I write it out. When I first watched the movie in theaters, the scene where it cuts from Steve being dragged out of the river by Bucky to Steve being in the hospital jarred me. And left it open for my mind to play around with possibilities. Thus, this puppy was born.

I don't have a clue how long this is going to be, and I will be writing it in tandem with another ongoing story (in a completely different fandom, holy crap), but I wanted to write something. So here we are.

Love it, hate it, any pointers you want to give me? Let me know in a review. Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

"Excuse me."

A knee knocking against her legs jerked Holly out of her dreams. After fielding several phone calls from her petrified family, and making some calls of her own to make sure her in-town friends were alright, she'd elected to take a small nap, as the other people in the waiting room had commandeered the television and magazines and she didn't want to do anything else phone-related. There wasn't much else to do in the hospital while she waited to hear back on the captain's condition. Well, other than wince every time she flexed her hand; most likely her hand would be bruised from where he held on too tightly. Small price to pay, really, for her to get Steve the help he needed.

Blinking, she looked around, realizing that someone had sat down next to her. The person, a woman, was dressed discreetly, skinny jeans encasing her legs and a sweatshirt with the hood drawn over her head. Her face was expressionless, almost bored as Holly examined her. It didn't appear that she was many years older than Holly, but her steady gaze and set jaw made her seem so. She was a beauty, despite the minimal bruising on her cheek, and bright red hair filtered in and out of the hood.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Holly felt recognition click, and she gulped.

"Yes?"

The other woman cleared her throat and slid a little closer. It was a move designed to keep the conversation low and between them only. "You're called Holly."

It wasn't a question, and all Holly could do was nod, on edge now. How did she know her name? The woman blinked, her gaze darting away briefly.

"You were the one who called in for Captain America."

"Yeah. Do you know if he's okay?" she asked, sitting up straighter and preparing to rise. Her new companion (_The Black Widow_, her brain supplied, though there was no consolation to be had in that thought) pulled back on her elbow, forcing her to stay put. Holly winced at her pressure; this sort of thing was happening far too often. She could only be grateful she hadn't pulled her by the hand, as Steve's fingers had left red marks and a little swelling.

"Police report says that you found him by the river. Found him there, even though he'd plummeted into the middle of the river. You didn't get him out," Black Widow murmured, keeping her voice even. "What I want to know is who did."

Holly shrugged. "I don't know. There was this guy..."

Black Widow's bright eyes focused intently on her. "Who was he?"

"I don't know, he didn't say. He just pointed to the river where a body was lying. I didn't think to stay and ask questions."

"Tell me exactly what went down," she commanded, and Holly shifted away instinctively, inwardly chiding herself for being intimidated. In a low voice, the younger woman intimated that the strange man only uttered two words to her, and he had disappeared shortly after, running north through the park. When she inquired about the man's appearance, Holly screwed her eyes shut, trying to mentally recall everything she could about him. The agent before her was determined to know everything, and Holly surely didn't want her to be upset over her deficiencies.

"Dark hair, shoulder length. Light eyes, I think blue. Tall, dark clothes. And his arm was plated, like medieval armor wrapped around, kinda," she listed off slowly, eyelids fluttering open and her gaze fastening on the redhead. The other woman's expression was placid, but her eyebrow was raised. Holly swallowed. "I swear, that's all I know. I could only think of getting help, and the other guy, he just left. I couldn't ditch the captain. There was no one else."

After a long pause, Black Widow ducked her chin once in an approximation of a nod. "Fine. Thanks for your help, all of it."

"You're welcome," Holly replied, the words twisting on her tongue. It was surreal, all of it was, and accepting the thanks of a woman who could probably kill her in half a second was a bit jarring. Motioning backwards, she continued, "Have you heard anything about him? Nobody has told me anything."

The SHIELD agent tilted her head. She seemed curious as to the other girl's concern. "They're still treating him, as far as I know."

Holly sighed, turning away and muttering under her breath, "Hang on, Steve."

The pair sat in silence for a moment, chewing over the brief conversation. Holly narrowed her eyes as she wondered why the Black Widow had talked to her. She had read the police report, evidently, but did she think there was more to it? Did she think Holly might've done something to bring about Steve's current state? Inwardly she snorted at that, fairly confident that she didn't possess the power to do so, physical or mental.

When she glanced up, she half considered asking some questions of her own.

"Natasha!" Both women turned to look in the direction of the caller, effectively diverting Holly's train of thought. It was an African American man, presumably in his late twenties or very early thirties, with wide eyes and a brisk stride. His street clothes consisted of a long-sleeved t-shirt and black pants, with heavy boots capping his feet. He too sported a few scrapes, and seemed to be walking a bit stiffly, but otherwise he appeared to be well. He stopped short in front of the pair, shifting his gaze between the two women. He nodded in Holly's direction. "And a friend?"

"Something like," Natasha (apparently) murmured, getting to her feet gracefully. "She's the one who found him."

The mans eyes widened slightly, but his demeanor did not change otherwise. "I see."

Feeling at a loss to say something, Holly just proffered her hand. "Hi, I'm Holly."

He took it, his hand rough but his grip gentle. "Sam Wilson."

"Nice to meet you," she said, glancing sideways towards the waiting woman. "And you as well, Natasha."

The redhead inclined her head, but shot a reprimanding glance at Sam. "Holly here was informing me of what exactly transpired on the river. Or riverbank, I guess would be the more accurate description."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Anything important?"

"Perhaps. For now, though, it can wait."

He snorted, not impressed. "Until when?"

Natasha had, by this point, pivoted on her heel and started making her way towards the entrance. She hesitated at the end of the hall, flashing a quick smirk over her shoulder at the pair before she had her final say. "Until later."

With that, she was gone, having gotten what she wanted. Sam, in turn, rolled his eyes before settling back against the far wall, chewing over something in his mind. Holly ultimately felt lost, and her headache from before was coming back with a vengeance. She had no idea what was going on, who these people were, or why she was sticking to her (now seemingly) asinine plan to wait out Steve's treatment.

"Are you his friend?" she wondered, curious as to why it had been so long for anyone to show up and ask about Captain America, for anyone to be concerned. It seemed that he would at least have some admirers waiting around to hear about his welfare, but she'd heard nothing from anyone who chanced to pass her by (while she was awake, that was). The other man half smiled, shrugging a bit.

"Yeah. I would've been here sooner, but I had to get patched up myself. Same as her."

Holly digested that news, taking a closer look at him. If there were any bandages, they were hidden beneath his clothes. Not quite as serious injuries, then.

"So have you heard anything about Steve's condition? From what she said," she said hooked her thumb in the direction of Natasha's exit, "there wasn't any real change."

Sam sighed, scratching his neck. "They're wrapping up treatment, and will be moving him to his own room eventually."

Holly sensed something in his pause. "But?"

"But, they don't think he'll be waking up anytime soon."

She felt the blood drain from her face, immediately jumping to an extreme conclusion. "A coma?"

Vehemently Sam shook his head, reassuring her, "No, no. They don't anticipate that. Just his brain is in recovery mode after all that he's been through."

She shivered, not knowing if he was being honest or just dressing up the situation to stop her from looking panic-stricken. The blood rushing back to her head made her dizzy, threatening to turn her headache into a migraine. Either way, she got herself under control, slowly. Pulling her phone out, she glanced at the time, not surprised to see the digital four o'clock shine at her. Spending four hours in the same position left her cramped, and not only that.

On cue, her stomach rumbled; she hadn't eaten since around 8:30 AM. Hospital fare was a little unappealing, but it was what she could get. Her new companion chuckled a little as she winced.

"Let's go see if the cafeteria has been picked over. I'm starving, too."

Getting to her feet, she found herself swaying from side to side briefly. "I gotta get some aspirin, too."

Sam held her forearm, leading her to the left. "Okay, detour, and then food."

**xXxXxXx**

Over a combination of lunch and dinner, Holly and Sam didn't speak much. There was chitchat to be had about the weather, about the ongoing condition of their mutual acquaintance, and about their separate jobs. She thought it was cool for Sam to be a sort of public speaker and counselor at the veterans' hospital across town, and he at least listened politely when she spoke of her work as the manager of a book store. It stalled out when she asked if he knew what was going on with the carriers that morning.

"I'm not sure it's something I am at liberty to talk about," he muttered, sitting up straight in his chair, signaling that it would be best to drop it. She ignored that.

"So you do know, but you won't tell me."

He let out a long-suffering sigh before leaning closely. "All I can say is that it is definitely better that those things are destroyed, for the good of the world."

She wrinkled her nose. "If that's all you can say, then I am certainly glad they are. Because they sure didn't look nice."

"They really weren't."

Quiet. And then: "So what happened down by the river?"

Holly's eyelids drooped. "You didn't read the police report like-"

He chuckled, cutting her off, "I don't have her resources. I've got some, but not _hers._"

Holly didn't like the sound of that, but she took the comment in stride. "I called for help. That's pretty much all that happened that directly involved me. Anything else, ask Natasha."

Sam closed his eyes, and she sensed him rolling them behind the lids, but brushed it aside. She was getting tired of repeating herself, and she had no wish to think about the strange fellow on the path any longer.

Eventually they found their way back to the waiting area, which had emptied out quite a bit in their absence. Sam took up residence in an armchair closest to a television set, with a nondescript baseball game on its screen. She occupied the couch, not caring for the content but glad to have something else to dwell on. Idly they watched, with him scratching at his hidden bandages and her rubbing her temples every so often. The headache had receded, but she wasn't going to risk another onslaught, if she could help it.

She judged it to be around seven o'clock (and later confirmed it with the time display on her phone) when the captain's doctor walked around the corner. He looked exhausted, but not unduly upset. "Mister Wilson, Miss Martin?"

Sam switched off the television, eagerly rising. "Yeah?"

"We've moved Captain Rogers into his own room. He's under restricted access, but you have been given permission to see him for a short time this evening. It can't be for very long, as he's recovering, but you can come back tomorrow during visiting hours," he explained, guiding them through the labyrinth to the patient rooms towards the south end of the hospital. Sam nodded at that, looking out the corner of his eye at Holly as she did the same. There had been no discussion of what either intended to do, but it became clear that both were going to see him whenever they could. Scooping up the file that was waiting in the holder outside the door, the doctor smiled tiredly at them. "He's doing very well, all things considered."

"Thank you, Doctor..." Holly trailed off, prompting him.

"Doctor Mattson. Good night, both of you." He gave them each a handshake before going off to his own office, maybe to make notes to the file or to review it for the next day's work. Gently, Sam turned the handle, peering into the dimly lit room. He inhaled sharply, but determinedly strode in. Drawing her courage from him, Holly followed.

Steve, now worked on and bandaged up, was asleep, his IV dripping along and the monitors still hooked up to him. The only difference between this moment and when she saw him previously was that he was somewhat cleaned up. And in a hospital gown. His blonde hair was matted down a bit, whether from grease or from a recent wash, she wasn't sure. He looked a mess, stitches and red patches on his skin. It honestly looked like he'd been to hell and back, and she wasn't expecting anything less.

It still didn't make it easy to see him like that, though. She stood just inside the door, silent, staring as the minutes passed. Sam did much of the same thing, save that he found a chair to sit in. They watched him breathe, the rise and fall of his chest reassuring them both.

"Thank you. For saving him."

She shifted her stance, taking a half-step backwards. "I didn't do anything. Just used my cell phone, like anyone else."

"You could have panicked and run," he pointed out. "You could have bolted when the trouble started, but you didn't."

Guiltily, she looked to the ground. She had wanted to do that. "I...couldn't just leave him there."

Sam nodded, reclining in his chair. "I'm glad you didn't."

A soft tapping came at the door, before it was cracked open and a nurse poked her head in. "He'll be available for normal visiting hours tomorrow, but for now, it's time to go."

Holly waited for Sam to get up from his seat, watching as he laid a hand on Steve's ankle, trying to give him the illusion of privacy as he said good-bye. Once he'd said his piece, he maneuvered around the edge of the bed back towards the door. He held it open for Holly to pass through, but she held up a pausing finger. She just needed a minute. Gingerly, she stepped forward, laying a hand on his like before.

"I'll be back. I promise."

It seemed that he couldn't hear her this time, be it the drugs or if he was deeply asleep on his own, but she didn't mind. He'd made it through treatment, but she just wanted to see him get better, to wake up. Patting his fingers one more time, she turned and left the room. As she and Sam made their way side-by-side to the front, she took her phone out of her pocket and started tapping the screen. Pulling up a new contact page, she passed the device off to her new acquaintance.

"Can I have your number? Just to keep in touch?" It wasn't a light thing to ask for, especially since she and Sam were nearly perfect strangers, but it didn't hurt to ask. "I, I would like to hear about it if he wakes up and you're here for it."

Sam half-grinned as he punched in the numbers, handing it back from her when he was done. He removed his phone from his pocket, copying her motions from before and obliging her to do the same for him. "Yeah, I can do that."

As they crossed the threshold into the evening air, another thought came to Holly, and she groaned. "Could I possibly ask you for another favor, Sam?"

His expression was bemused, then quizzical. "Maybe."

She felt herself shrink in his gaze, embarrassed. "Can I get a ride back to the park? I need to get my car."

Without saying yes or no, he strode towards a black SUV, motioning with one hand for her to come along. "You're the last person I'm doing this for; I don't want anything to happen to the rental."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, now Holly's met Natasha and Sam...which is interesting, in any aspect. And I do know that hospitals have visiting policies that allow visitors until 9 PM (or so), but doctors have a little leeway there regarding their patient's recovery, so...yeah, they go kicked out a little early. But at least they saw him.

Soon, Holly and Steve will properly meet. Very soon...


	3. Chapter 3

After an onslaught of nightmares, Holly was actually relieved when her alarm clock went off the next morning. There wasn't much that she could remember from the dreams, other than fiery wrecks falling from the sky and her being trapped within them as water rushed in to drown her. The events of the previous day had certainly left their mark, most likely a permanent one. The droning _beep-beep-beep_ elicited a groan of satisfaction from her, since she could finally leave her bed and dreams behind.

Getting up, she rolled her shoulders, loosening them. She stretched her legs as well, feeling the pull and rolling her eyes at herself; she must have curled up too tightly in an effort to comfort herself. Taking the elastic band out of her hair, she shook her short ponytail out and combed through the brown strands with her fingers. It tickled the tops of her shoulders, irritating her.

_'Time to get a haircut,'_ she thought sourly, rubbing the last bits of sleep from her eyes. On the positive side, her hand wasn't hurting as much. Wandering to the bathroom, Holly's eyes flicked over the hamper, her clothes from yesterday dropped haphazardly by it. She had at least managed to put stain remover on the knees of her jeans before leaving them for the night.

She had returned around eight o'clock, but it felt like one or two in the morning. She hadn't physically exhausted herself, but she was mentally tired. Forcing herself to stay up for at least another hour, she changed into her pajamas, grabbed a snack, and then promptly fell asleep as the news broadcast droned on about SHIELD and its involvement with the disaster on the Potomac. At some point in the night she'd shut off the television and ambled to the bedroom, half-conscious and unable to keep up any longer.

After going through her morning ablutions and dressing, she switched the television back on, wanting the background noise as she shuffled through the cupboards from some breakfast. It was some cartoon, she recognized the intro music, but she didn't pay attention to that. Instead, she actively checked her phone as she grabbed a granola bar from the second shelf and then poured herself a glass of orange juice.

No new text messages, no new voice messages, though Facebook would reveal her friends' continued existences and varied opinions of yesterday's events. One email from her boss Carl, asking her to check stock and order more when she came in. The part-timers would have the day off, and it would only be a half day for her and him. The disaster and all that, he explained. Holly sighed, agreeing silently to the proposed plan, but was otherwise disappointed.

She had hoped that Sam would have some good news for her regarding Steve. Instead, she settled for texting him herself, greeting him and telling him to update her if anything happened. Perhaps later in the day she would swing by the hospital, check in there. She gnawed on the granola bar, managing to finish it and her juice before heading out the door. Her phone beeped at her, with Sam's reply being that he would let her know anything new. With that, she set the cell on vibrate and got in the car. The drive to work took longer than usual, as people were clogging up the streets trying to get over to either the crash site or the hospitals to see their injured loved ones. Holly tried to push away the sight of haunted eyes, tried to pretend that it was just another day, if only to get through the shortened shift.

The bookstore was not part of a chain; it was a local shop that had been running for the last twenty years. It occupied the first two floors of what was once an old boarding house, with the third floor being an apartment for Carl and his family. On the first floor, the back corner was dedicated for the use of children, with drawing tables and a story hour hosted every Thursday. Nonfiction books resided on the rest of the first floor shelves, while fiction took up the entire second floor. The stock was a mix of classics and new bestsellers, and sometimes a hidden gem or two. Holly had been there since she first moved out to D.C., attempting to forge a new life for herself amongst the things that made her feel most at home: books. Stories comforted her in a way that nothing else had, and helped her picture worlds of fantastic beings and unimaginable things.

She had never thought real life would get to be as outlandish as the books she read and sold. But that was before yesterday.

Carl, choosing to work the register for the few customers that did come in, had the radio switched to the news. It was busily reporting the status of the carriers and SHIELD, revealing a plot potentially laid down by a secret organization within the organization, and what kind of impact a full-scale investigation would have upon the members of said organization. Not terribly new ground, as the anchors on the local station speculated about many of the same things the night before. Holly was in the back, filtering through identifications numbers and locating copies to refill the shelves, when something different caught her attention.

"...And sources have indicated that Captain America was, if not the direct cause of the multiple crashes, at least involved."

A recording came onto the airwaves, supplied by insiders at SHIELD. It was the captain's voice, Steve's voice, as he denounced the enemy organization, HYDRA, and its leader, and his intention to set things right.

"_If you launch those helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way, unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot. The price of freedom is high, always has been, and it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not." _

Holly shivered; having never heard Steve talk before, she found hearing his speech to be unnerving. His voice itself wasn't unpleasant, but the tenor of what he spoke of was. Especially at the implication that many innocent people would have died on the commands of those machines. That was a terrifying thought. She had been a witness to everything over the Potomac, and she understood that Steve had risked his life, but the magnitude of the deception and the truth beneath it all was stunning.

A surge of anxiety raced in her veins, then. Just what else had the reporters picked up on? She had noticed a few helicopters the day before, but when the explosions started and the carriers began to crash, they hightailed it out of there. And afterward, she couldn't recall, as she was too busy trying not to freak out. Hiding out in the hospital had apparently been a good idea, then. It still made her nervous, as she did not want to be found by the media. For a minute, her mind filled with images of cameras and microphones being thrust into her face, demanding who she was, where she was from, how on Earth did she manage to find _the_ Captain America, and what was her take on the entire debacle within one of the government's most screwed-up enterprises?

So far, Holly Martin was an anonymous entity, and she wanted to remain so. Pivoting on her heel, she dove back into storage, breathing slowly to calm herself as she scanned her list once more. The hours ticked by, and at around two in the afternoon, Carl dismissed her.

"Jenna coming home tonight?" Holly asked, gathering her purse and jacket. Carl nodded, half smiling; his eldest daughter was a student at the college across town, living separately from the rest of the family now.

"Yeah. The hospital doesn't have her scheduled for training rounds, so she'll be able to spend the night."

Holly grimaced, feeling bad for not being more concerned with her boss's family earlier. Jenna had to have spent her evening with any overflow patients from the crash site. She had to be dead on her feet.

"Well, that's good, at least," she responded, for a lack of anything better to say. She felt her purse vibrate, her cell phone receiving a message, but she waited until she was out the door and wished Carl a good rest of the day before pouncing on it. The new text notification caught her eye, and she eagerly opened it.

_**He just woke up.**_

Her heart pounded, and her free hand found its way to her mouth, covering her great groan of relief. But before she could send a message back, Sam had sent another.

_**He's asking questions about what happened.**_

A feeling of dread compounded her relief. She blindly found her way to her car, locking herself in but continuing to stare at the phone. Her fingers flew over the digital keyboard to respond before Sam said more.

_I'm glad he's awake. What have you told him?_

_**A little of everything, mostly about what happened with Nat and me.**_

She frowned, wondering at what lengths they went to. Far enough for physical injury, she knew that much, but Sam hadn't exactly shared with her yesterday. Perhaps she could try and inquire again?

_Which you probably can't talk about via text, right?_

_**Exactly right.**_

It was worth a shot, but she knew he would as likely give her a straight answer as he would've last night.

_**I told him about you.**_

That message caused the butterflies to come alive in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, Holly wasn't so sure about the whole "sticking by Steve" plan. What if he was disgusted to have been at the mercy of some random woman? What if he was embarrassed? Still, she couldn't escape the situation now.

_How much?_

_**Just what you told me. He knows I'm texting you right now.**_

Summoning her courage, she made herself type one more question.

_Does he want to meet me, ask me any questions directly?_

A long pause followed, one that was long enough to make her shrug her shoulders against the perceived rejection. Steve was embarrassed, or at least had no interest in meeting a stranger. Perhaps Natasha would just give him the information he wanted about what happened to him, without including her. A part of her was sullen at the knowledge, but maybe this was the most that could be offered to her. She could go on with her life, knowing she had done what she could and Steve had survived. Maybe that would be it, and she would be content with that.

_**He says tomorrow would be best. He's certain he'll feel better and up for another visitor then.**_

Holly let out the breath she'd been holding, part of her glad to be able to see Steve conscious and on the mend, even if it had be the next day.

_I can do that. I can come by tomorrow afternoon, around 3._

It would take some finagling, but she reckoned that she could get away with doing errands for the store and still be able to leave by then. (Plus, going in early would help soften the blow to the part-timers who would have to close.) With a solid plan set, she was able to finally start her car and head out. The only problem was finding something to do with her time. She had no family who lived in the D.C. area, and the rest of her friends were either working a full day or leaving to see their families.

An idea struck her, and instead of pulling out right to go home, she crossed over to the left lane, weaving into traffic yet again.

**xXxXxXx**

The Smithsonian Institution had had an exhibit set up about Captain America for about a year now, around the time when he (evidently) took up residence in the city. And while it was said to be an interesting experience for museum goers, it hadn't struck Holly's fancy at the time. She been to the Smithsonian once when she first moved out east, doing a circuit of the landmarks and museums as any respectable out-of-towner would. But she hadn't been back, though. She didn't have a reason to.

The exhibit was tucked into its own gallery, halfway towards the back. After paying her museum fare, Holly brushed by the other sights, encountering a crush as she crossed the threshold into the main exhibit room. It was strange. Really cool, but ultimately strange.

It was a comprehensive immersion, a side of World War II that Holly had never considered. Her great-grandfather and a great uncle had served in the war, and of course there were the obligatory class units in school dedicated to the subject, but this was a facet that was never really covered in any class. The display of Project: Rebirth's effect on Steve's body and even his life was a shock. He was over ninety years old, chronologically, even though he physically didn't look a day over twenty-five. The mounted buttons would pump out a smooth narrator's voice, detailing how he had been rejected several times over by the army before being chosen for the project. At the end of one set of mounted displays, she could see some kids measuring themselves against cutouts of Steve pre- and post-operation. Indulging herself, she found that she was taller than Original Steve (as she called him in her mind) by about three inches.

_'It has to be weird, and sad,' _she thought to herself as she strolled past the Howling Commandos uniform display, _'to have your entire life out in the open for anyone to indulge in it. God, let's hope Steve has never been here.'_

Guilt set in, and she solemnly swore she would not bring the exhibit up. She actually took a few steps towards the exit, thinking it may be best to just leave, but she couldn't force herself to go. The curiosity was too strong, and she didn't want to go into the hospital the next day, struggling to connect with a famous hero as an ignorant civilian. She wanted to know something about him, to get an idea of what shaped the man she had called for help for. The flow of the crowds pushed her deeper into the exhibit, and she did not have the will to fight it.

The old motorcycle was pretty neat to look at, despite the fact that she'd never been interested in vehicles. When she reached the area set aside for James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, she had to wait for a guy in a hoodie and dirty jeans to move on, actually causing her to revisit a couple displays in the interim before he finally moved off and freed up the space.

Something about Bucky's face in the pictures looked familiar, the eyes especially, but for the life of her Holly couldn't think to place him. Maybe she'd seen his face in a textbook back in grade school, or probably during a group project. She brushed it off, too busy reading about the single friend that Steve had from childhood who followed him into war.

The only one lost overseas, the narrator had murmured, her finger lingering on the button as she listened. The only one not to return home. That struck her as devastating; she couldn't imagine losing her best friend in such a manner. It would break her heart, probably scar her for life. Poor Bucky. Poor Steve.

There was an option to sit in on a movie in the projection room, but Holly had had enough for one day. Pulling away from the crowd, she took light steps towards the back exit. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, alerting her. She could feel that someone was watching her, and she was fairly certain it wasn't either of the guards posted at the arched exit. Glancing around, she spotted the hooded guy from before, giving her a long look as he rested against a wall. His head was turned towards her, but he didn't move from his spot.

_'Just some creep,' _she mused, hunching her shoulders and slinking out of the building as quickly as she could. As she clambered out into the parking garage and located her car, she kept looking behind and in front of her, reasoning that she wasn't being followed, and there was no need to panic. When she got to her car, the stranger from the day before popped into her mind. Maybe he'd followed her, set himself up with a disguise to see if she'd done as she was told. Violently, she shook her head, throwing the thought away. It couldn't have been him.

'_It wasn't him. You're just w__orking yourself up into a panic for nothing,' _she chided herself, jamming the keys into the ignition and pulling out hard from the space. _'There's no reason to be afraid.'_

But the image of him circled through her brain as she jumped onto the roads, and wouldn't leave her alone for the next few hours of the evening.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I hope the texting bits weren't too confusing for anyone.

Yes, we all know who the guy in the hoodie is (it never specified when he was there, did it?). And no, Holly hasn't made the connection yet for Bucky and the Winter Soldier. Unlike Steve, she doesn't have a long history with the guy and probably wouldn't recognize him right off the bat as Bucky. Plus, she was only in the Winter Soldier's company for a few moments; she most likely couldn't make a connection if she wasn't forcing her brain to work for one. It's there, though; she just hasn't arrived at the conclusion yet.

Sorry if this was a lot of filler and boring for you all. I said Holly and Steve would meet soon, but I didn't promise that it would happen this chapter. However, you all know where the next one will be leading...so, thanks for reading, please review, and I will see you later!


	4. Chapter 4

Pulling into a spot in the visitors' lot a little after three o'clock, Holly put the car in park and cut the engine, resting her forearms and head on the wheel for a moment. Traffic from the bookstore to the hospital had been a downright nightmare, as she had been caught in the beginnings of rush hour, not to mention she'd been stuck behind a particularly slow Cadillac driver on the last leg of the journey. She'd definitely lost her temper and then some, and was swearing out loud as she feared being late to her promised meeting. She hated being late. Drawing in a few deep breaths, she didn't raise her head until she felt herself calm down.

At least the dissipating road rage had subdued the nervousness somewhat.

When she woke that morning, she felt the knots tying in her stomach as she thought about actually meeting Steve face-to-conscious-face. It was one thing to interact with an unconscious man, quite another to actually speak with him. Especially when he was supposed to be this great, big, all-American super soldier, and she was just...herself. That was intimidating, no matter how many times she told herself he was just another human being. It motivated her to be a little pickier with her dressing and her appearance that morning. The end result of a blue sweater, dark jeans, and flats finally met with her approval, but she was almost late to work because of it.

Checking her face in the visor mirror, she noted her brown eyes looked a little bloodshot, but not terribly so. Her hair had fluffed up during work, too. She'd left it to air dry, in the hopes that the humidity wouldn't be high enough to affect it as she went about her day; evidently she was wrong. Holly had spent her time running to the office supply store and the grocery store, restocking the depleted stock for the staff. She also had to make phone calls to the book suppliers to inquire after a shipment that had not arrived yet, a frustrating call that had her raking her hand over her head in muted rage when she was told that the delay would be another two days. She must have looked like a descendant of a cotton ball when she joined Alex, one of the part-time people, in the front until it was time for her to take off. He'd certainly given her a funny look as she walked around (not that he had room to do so, in her opinion; his fauxhawk was getting long again and had started drooping to the left).

_'Pony tail it is, then,'_ she thought, pulling the hair binder from her wrist, a habit she'd developed in high school. She combed through it with her fingers a few times before tying it back, taming it as best she could. _'Wavy hair sucks sometimes.'_

Content that she was presentable, she grabbed her clutch from the passenger seat and got out of the car. Each step that brought her closer to the hospital made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. There was no reason to be nervous, she tried telling herself yet again, it would be fine. Tugging on the end of her sleeve, she found an orderly at the lobby desk and asked him directions to Steve's room (she could remember traveling the path, but she did not mark the other rooms to gauge where she was). After giving her name, and explaining that she was a friend, the orderly made a quick phone call back.

"We have to check, see if you're approved to see him," she was told as he grabbed the receiver. She frowned as he dialed numbers. It was obvious she wasn't a reporter, or some deranged fan, or anything like that. In fact, she was pretty sure that Captain America's hospital stay was still firmly under wraps from the media. It was an incredible notion, but she hadn't seen or heard any evidence to the contrary as of yet. If anything, people seemed to think he was off gallivanting elsewhere now that the helicarriers were destroyed.

"But I was the one who basically got him here," she muttered under her breath, waiting for him to finish. After some minor back and forth with the person on the other end of the line, he hung up after a couple minutes and stood.

"Follow me."

Trailing after him, the path through the hallways started to become familiar, and she was confident that next time (if there was a next time) she could make her way there without incident. Both of Holly's hands gripped her clutch tightly, an effort to stop them from fiddling nervously as she walked. As they rounded a corner, she drew in a sharp breath.

There were guards posted at both ends of the hall, and another one was stationed just beyond Steve's door. And each one of them had what looked like machine guns. Whether they were military or CIA, or even if they from the now-defunct SHIELD, she had no clue. All she knew was that she had grossly underestimated the situation in thinking that there was no harm in him being here.

_'Of course. If he's being kept here secretly, whatever's protecting him would protect him thoroughly. Idiot,'_ she chided herself, subconsciously straightening her back and looking anywhere but at the guards. She didn't want to give them any excuse to think her suspicious and have her escorted out in whatever way they deemed fit. The orderly motioned for her to stop, striding forward to speak with the guard ahead in hushed tones. After the two exchanged glances and sized her up, they motioned for her to proceed. Their radio systems seemed to come alive as she walked by, crackling and indicating that she had entered the hall, and that she was not a threat.

Stopping in front of the door, she reached for the knob before remembering her manners. Withdrawing her hand, she gently reached up instead to knock. The shut blinds on the inside wiggled slightly, pulling off the sides briefly and allowing only a peek of the foot of the hospital bed. Her eyes dropped to the ground, staring at her feet as she waited for an affirmative.

"Come in," Sam's voice filtered through the door, causing her to sigh in relief. Thank goodness, someone she knew was in there, too. Turning the door handle, she heard a quiet melody as she came into the room. Looking up, she'd intended on locating the source of the music, spotting an iPod plugged into speakers on a rolling tray in the corner of the room. Sam stepped in front of her then, offering his hand for her to shake. He looked a little better after two days, the cuts on his face well on their way to healing. "Good to see you, Holly."

"Yeah, good to see you, too, Sam," she responded, trying to discreetly look around him. He blocked her view of the rest of the room, and consequently of Steve. "You look better."

Understanding what she was doing immediately, he chuckled. Maneuvering around her, he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the hallway.

"Thanks. Well, I'll be around in case either of you need me," he said, going out the door. Holly turned to watch him go, squelching a renegade impulse to beg him to stay. Instead she nodded at his retreating back, the door obscuring him as it shut behind him. Inhaling deeply, she took her eyes off the door, and faced the interior of the room once again.

Steve was sitting up, the bed inclined to help him. Many of the tubes and wires had been removed. He was still hooked up to a heart monitor, which was chirping softly, and the IV. The unfortunate hospital gown was still swathed around his body, the short sleeves not hiding his bruised arms. His hands were settled in his blanketed lap, with what looked like a newspaper folded beneath them. His bright blue eyes stared right back at her, examining her as well. What struck her the most was, despite the cuts and stitches along his jaw, and the nasty bruise over his right eye, he looked good.

Part of her had been repressing the fact that he was an attractive fellow, as it was not appropriate at any point in the last two days to dwell on it. Now, it was resurfacing at the absolute wrong moment. Especially when an uncomfortable silence had stretched on for far too long. As she was preparing to say something, anything, Steve broke the ice himself.

"So, you're Holly Martin."

His voice sounded a lot nicer in person, she absently noted. Nodding, she took a few steps forward and offered a tentative grin. "Yeah. Hi."

"Hi." He motioned to the visitor chair that Sam had left by the side of the bed. "Have a seat. No need to stand on my account."

Dropping into the chair, she tapped a finger against her clutch, scanning his face once more. "You look better, Steve. Or, Captain, whatever you'd prefer."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Steve is just fine."

"Okay, then." She glanced away, looking around at the flowers and get-well cards that were placed along the back wall on another tray. Feeling a little stupid, she proceeded to unzip the clutch and withdrew the Hershey bar she had in there. She didn't want to show up empty-handed, and had picked it up while running errands. "It's no fancy arrangement, but still, it's got to taste better than the food here. Get well soon, Steve."

She handed it off to him then, grateful he didn't just toss it away. In fact, he looked a little surprised, like he hadn't expected her to even do something like that for him.

"Thank you."

"No problem," she replied, feeling at a loss. "So...looks notwithstanding, how are you feeling?"

"Mostly sore, kind of like I was tossed around in the dryer."

Her eyebrows twitched together, thinking back on the carriers. "Pretty big dryer, I'd say."

He grinned, but his eyes turned gloomy, focusing on his covered feet. "Definitely."

Hesitating, she allowed the music to play through before speaking again. She knew that she wasn't here simply for a visit, and she preferred to get everything out in the open. "Look, I don't know exactly how much Sam told you, or if Natasha said anything-"

His sharp glance cut back to her then, but she kept talking.

"-But if you need me to, I don't know, fill in any gaps that they couldn't, I will. As best I can, anyway."

Slowly, Steve nodded, turning over the questions in his mind swiftly. "They told me most of what happened. I know there was a...a guy, who pointed me out to you."

"Yes," she murmured, mentally preparing to recall as much as she could.

"You're absolutely certain it was a dark-haired man with a metal arm?"

She smirked, shrugging her shoulders. "I know, it sounds ridiculous, but yeah, I'm positive."

Steve snorted, though his demeanor had turned thoughtful. "Not all that ridiculous, I can promise you that."

Given what the man had lived through, and no doubt had seen, Holly couldn't deny the truth in Steve's words.

"Did he threaten you, in any way?"

She blinked, her expression perplexed. He was concerned that _she _could have been hurt? "No. Not really."

Off his raised eyebrow, she hastened to explain, "I mean, he didn't say anything to me, but he looked a little scary. I didn't want to provoke him."

Steve interjected, "So no physical confrontation, either?"

Holly shook her head. "No, definitely not. I'm pretty sure he just wanted to get out of there."

He leaned back into the pillows behind him then, digesting what she had told him. His jaw tightened as he thought hard, drawing conclusions to events and things she had no understanding of. And due to her experience with Sam, brief though it may have been, she knew better than to ask. Long minutes stretched, with the tunes flowing on. Unknowingly, she began rubbing at her shoulder with her free hand, working out a stress knot and wincing from the pain.

"What happened to your hand?"

She froze, her ministrations paused. Holding it out in front of her, she could see the faint purple outlines of fingertips along the side of her hand. Oh, boy. Well, that explained why she couldn't rest her hand on the counters at work today; it was stinging from the bruises. She'd ignored it at the time, just chalking it up to sensitive skin or nerves. It wasn't the worst pain in the world, and odds were that they would disappear in a few days. The trouble was explaining what happened to the one who caused the bruises.

Not knowing what spin to put on it, she decided to be honest. "When the doctors told me to leave so they could take care of you, you...wouldn't let me."

Steve's eyes widened. "What?"

"When I was waiting for the ambulance to come get you, I wanted you to know it was going to be okay, just in case you woke up or something," she stated with embarrassed amusement. "So I...held your hand. And then you kept holding on, up until we got here. Made me promise I wouldn't go anywhere before you'd let me go."

His skin flushed, his face turning slightly pink. "I...I'm sorry. I had no idea..."

She waved it off, glossing over the awkwardness with a half smile. "Don't be. Seriously, I'm fine."

She held eye contact with him until her returned the gesture, nodding that he accepted her word.

A knock came at the door, and a helmeted head poked in at that moment. "The nurse is saying five more minutes, sir."

Steve, turning his attention to the guard, dipped his chin and indicated for him to leave. Holly wished she had a reason to object, to stay, but she knew that it would only cause problems for her to do so. Besides, whether he wanted to or not, Steve was beginning to look tired. For being a super soldier, he was taking his time recovering from the past few days.

Holly didn't want to make things worse for him.

Tilting her head to the left, she let out a weary sigh. "I suppose that's my cue to leave, then."

He nodded, but he did not seemed to be pleased. Probably because he was the one would be stuck there, being examined by the nurses yet again. "I suppose."

As she rose from her seat, Steve struggled to sit up straighter, as far as he could without assistance. Holly dropped her clutch, impulsively leaning forward to help. Planting one hand behind his back to steady him, she gave him the other (the uninjured one) to lever himself up. When he'd managed to reach his goal, he squeezed her fingers as gently as he could, not wanting to hurt her again.

"Thank you, ma'am. For everything."

Her throat went dry, her shoes becoming a fascinating sight at that moment. A hero, a _superhero,_ had thanked her for her help. Like she had done something extraordinary, like it wasn't something anyone else could have done. Her voice came out in the barest whisper.

"You're welcome."

Backing away, she glanced at the array of flowers arrangements once more, registering how few of them there were. Granted, his condition was being kept from the public, but the friends who did know did not number many. Her heart twisted at that, thinking how lonely he must be.

"Look, there's no reason for you to agree to this, and don't feel obligated to do so, but...I mean, being in the hospital sucks," she rambled, pushing back the part of her that was screaming for her to shut up, "and I know it's not fun to be here by yourself, so if...if you want some company, other than Sam, I mean...well, I'm around."

Feeling like she couldn't have sounded dumber, she chanced a glance his way. Looking him full in the face, she saw that Steve's expression had become stoic and even. Maybe it was a mistake to even suggest coming back. But then she looked him in the eye. His gaze was bright with amusement, and hope.

"I can't think of a reason to say no, Miss Martin."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** If the character description for Holly was excessive, I am sorry about that. Writing just happens the way it happens, I guess.

So yeah, Holly and Steve finally meet. About time, right? Right. Things are a little awkward right now, but hopefully it won't be as bad in the future. :)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

"You calling or folding, Rogers?"

Steve glanced up from his hand, narrowing his eyes at his opponent. "Give me a minute."

"You've had five."

A smirk tugged at his mouth. "Feeling nervous?"

Holly just shook her head, not taking her gaze off her cards. "Just impatient."

She had made good on her offer to visit whenever Steve wanted the company. As soon as she'd left after the first meeting, he procured permission for her to come back. It was, indeed, a pain and a bore for him to be trapped in the same room for days on end. Supplying him with her phone number, Holly told him to give her a call when he felt up for it. A day and a half later, he had left her a message while at work, politely inquiring if she would be available for the evening, because daytime television certainly had lost its appeal. A little after six o'clock, she showed up with some take-out and some books borrowed from her personal library (they'd been living in the backseat of her car for several months, just in case she was stranded bored somewhere).

"Just in case you wanted something to break up the monotony. No Jane Austen, I promise," she had told him, handing over the novels.

He'd blinked, turning over the books: _The Count of Monte Cristo _and _The Lord of the Rings, _the first of the trilogy_. _He had a brush with Dumas in the past, not really getting too into the book. Mr Tolkien was an author that he had just managed to miss, since his stories were published just after his disappearance. For what he understood of both, they weren't bad choices. He'd have something to do when neither she nor Sam could be there, at least. "So no, um, e-reader for you, then?"

She'd shrugged. "I like actually holding a physical copy in my hands. Besides, you're probably sick of being surrounded by the electronic stuff."

The look Steve shot at the heart monitor spoke volumes. The iPod and cell phone in the corner were not glared at so harshly, but the principle still stood. He set the books to one side with a decisive thud, knocking over some newspapers and napkins as he did so. Holly tidied them without a sound, but a half-hidden grin displayed her amusement at being right. Grabbing a container, she pulled out some chopsticks and a fork. Handing him the western utensil, she proceeded to open one of the containers and proffered it to him.

"Dumplings?"

Steve's mouth watered. Hospital food was better than the rations he'd gotten back in the war, but it still was hospital fare. The candy bar Holly had given him had long since been devoured as a result of the food quality. "...Yes."

Over the shared containers, they talked. She shared with him about work, about the late arrival of a popular teen novel and her relief to find that the prepubescent masses wouldn't descend upon the bookstore. He in turn told her about the guard rotation, and the positive prognosis the doctors had given him. From there it would drift, to movies she'd seen or to her family back home, to the horrible television he'd been subjected to and his and Sam's conspiring to subvert the staff whenever he was allowed to leave the room. Both seemed to have tacitly agreed that rehashing the crashes was of no use; CNN's broadcast and the resulting local stations' coverage was enough. She'd offered tidbits of her life, and he gave her a synopsis of his, omitting the events of the last week.

Of course, she had her own life, friends and work that were part of her time. A Sarah figured most prominently in her conversations, a girl around the same age and more than willing to be Holly's compatriot in most endeavors. She still found time to come around and see him when she wasn't busy with one or another. It was the start of a tentative friendship; one that maneuvered past the reputation built around him and defied her expectations of his character.

(Steve hinted, discreetly of course, that he was well aware of his public profile on the internet and wouldn't condemn her for looking it up if she had. Holly had flushed red at that, admitting nothing and pointedly shoving food into her mouth. He laughed to himself when she obviously changed the subject.)

Right now, over a week from the initial meeting, their collective attention was turned to their card game. Holly fought to keep her face still, determined to not give away her tell. When she'd proposed a game of cards, she hadn't expected Steve to take her up on the suggestion of poker (he struck her more as a cribbage guy). Board games had been an option over the last few days, but in her experience she found those best played with more than two people being able to participate. And here she was, stuck playing a game she was not especially talented at and watching her winnings dwindle away. Granted, they weren't playing for money; there wasn't enough loose change in her purse to use as such. Their chips were a divvied-up family size bag of M&M's. But she had lost more often than she had won, and she was getting increasingly competitive over the lost chocolate. The fact that she had a full house just upped the ante.

'_Come on, come on,'_ her brain yelled, willing him to quit drawing out the suspense. Finally, he tapped the rolling tray lightly.

"Call," he said, indicating for her to show first.

"Full house," she announced, pleased with her luck. Her smug smile as she put down the cards face up did not last long, once Steve revealed his hand. "Oh, come on!"

"Four of a kind," he murmured, sweeping up his winnings to his side of the tray. She groaned loudly, leaning back in her chair and letting her head loll back. Innocuously, he asked, "Another hand?"

Her head popped back up, her eyes scrutinizing him. "I should say no…but fine. You deal, but I'm watching you."

Her wagging finger was supposed to be a warning, but he just raised an eyebrow at it as he shuffled the deck. "You can't be worried I'll stack the deck against you. Not me."

"Oh, please," she snorted, rolling her eyes at his innocent expression. "Out of the two of us, who would be the most likely to do something sneaky?"

They looked at each other, both of them startled at her not-so-subtle jab at his exploits with SHIELD over the past year. For a moment, Holly wondered if she had crossed a line and should apologize. To her relief, Steve started to chuckle instead of taking offense.

"You suggested the game, I can't be held accountable for your skill, or lack of it."

A gasp of surprised laughter shot out of her mouth, her hand automatically accepting her five cards. "Excuse me, then."

Companionable silence fell as they examined their hands and put in their opening amounts. Holly chewed her lip thoughtfully, turning over two of her cards for new ones. Glancing at his face, she noted that the shiner on his eye was much more subdued, and the cuts along his jaw were scabbing over.

"So, have the doctors said when they might let you go?"

Steve sighed, discarding three from his hand. "In a few days, they told me. Not soon enough, in my opinion."

She smiled, genuinely smiled. "That's still good news."

He shrugged, pushing in a few candies and otherwise not looking at her. "Yes, I suppose."

She mimicked his actions, puzzled as to his unenthusiastic comment. Thinking about it, she tossed a couple more out. "Raise. Do you not want to leave? You have contradicted yourself in the space of two sentences."

"I'm ready to leave, believe me. It's more of the thought of...after, that's of concern."

That caught her attention. Folding her hand in her lap, she looked him in the eye. "After?"

This time he followed her lead, their game abandoned temporarily. "After SHIELD, what comes after that."

Nodding, she considered his anxieties. He had been serving for some government organization or another for a long time now. One could argue about the seventy years he'd disappeared for as a hiatus, but considering that he'd viewed it as "sleeping", the contention would be brushed aside. The point was, now he had no hierarchy to serve and no cause to pursue. The life he'd known, the world he grew up in, was gone and replaced with this present that seemed like a futuristic dream more often than not. He'd been in it for a few years now, but by all accounts he'd only embraced it so he could function and do his job. What kind of life would he have now? She knew she'd be troubled by it, were she in his position. Dropping her gaze back to her folded cards, Holly searched for the right response. What she came up with was something of a cliché, but it still held true.

"It'll work itself out. You'll see." She missed the doubtful expression on Steve's face, directing her attention to the day's newspaper and some napkins on the bedside table. Picking them up with her free hand, she noticed that they were littered along the bank spaces with detailed sketches. There were a few faces, landmarks, a sunrise cresting a treed hilltop. They were really good, even for being squeezed into the limits of margins. She'd never been great at drawing, and honestly envied anyone who could create such wonderful pictures and sights.

It also gave her some insight into Steve himself. These were impressions of his mind left upon paper, an outlet for creativity that had to be stifled, no doubt, when he had very important missions to carry out and plans to fulfill. It would be a shame to see that get set by the wayside, in case something else popped up after the whole SHIELD fiasco.

Pointing out the doodles he'd made, continuing, "Maybe you could do something with that. Drawing, I mean. You're really good."

This time, she caught Steve's amused look, his grin tight. "Perhaps. I could pick that up again. It depends."

"On what?"

His eyes became distant. "On other things I have to take care of first."

Her gaze narrowed, curious. That could mean something very good or very bad, but her money was on the latter, so to speak. "Other things."

"Yes." His cards were retrieved, and he studied them with great interest. She wasn't about to be put off, but before she could utter a word, he cut her off. "Before you ask, it's potentially dangerous and risky to even pursue them. Discussing it openly is not an option."

Holly breathed hard through her nose. It shouldn't have surprised her at all that he'd surmised her intentions to question him. Nothing she could do about it, now. "...Okay, fair enough."

They took a moment to get back into the game, their heads bent over the tray. After a few rounds of raising the stakes, the game was called and Holly had, happily enough, won the round. Sweeping up her winnings, she spoke up again.

"Just do me a favor, will you? If at any point these 'other things' threaten my life, please let me know. I'd appreciate it."

Steve allowed himself a humorless smirk. "I'll do my best."

**xXxXxXx**

True to their word, the doctors had allowed the release of Steve Rogers, Captain America, from hospital care after nearly three weeks. It was deemed that the rest of his recovery could take place outside the vicinity's walls, as his sprains had healed and the rest of his body on the mend. With his apartment sealed off for investigation (and thus terminating his lease), he had made alternate plans to reside with Sam. It was just as well; he'd never really had any memories, good or bad, of the place and had no desire to resume living there. Earlier in the week, Sam had been allowed access to gather clothes for him and any personal items not being examined, and they were waiting in his spare bedroom. And so with little fanfare, Steve found himself being piled into a wheelchair and rolled to the front door, a small duffel bag in his lap. This was met with opposition on his part, but Sam persuaded him to go along with it.

"It protects the hospital from liability if you were to injure yourself on the way out. Keeping you here longer is not what they want," he said in a low voice, pushing the sour-faced captain down the hall. The guards who had been watching over him over the last few weeks had vanished from the building, in order not to panic anyone or give them any unwanted attention.

"I feel like an invalid," Steve grumbled. "I haven't felt like that in over eighty years."

"You really don't like hospitals, do you?" Sam asked him, raising his eyebrows. By all accounts, Steve had been a good patient, not really trying the staff's nerves and doing as he was directed to by doctors. But Sam would have to have been blind not to notice his impatience with being cooped up there, and his irritation with being forced to put up with it.

"I was a ninety-pound asthmatic who occasionally got into fights. Where do you think I ended up, more often than not?" Steve pointed out, rolling his eyes as the memories of childhood came flooding back. "I've seen far too much of them, that's all."

"Well, stay in the chair until we're out of the lobby, and this should be the last one you see for awhile," his companion retorted. "Hopefully. Unless you plan on getting into another fight."

The captain glanced over his shoulder, sharing a long look with his friend. It was discussed, between them and Natasha, to dig up whatever they could find on Bucky. Steve's intentions upon finding the information, if there was any to be found, remained to be seen. Natasha was seeing to the actual digging, calling in favors where she could from her fellow agents, if they were still good. It could take weeks, though. The collapse of SHIELD meant a collapse of everything within its infrastructure, and any information could be lost, out of their grasp.

For now, he had to settle with waiting. And watching, just in case his would-be best friend reappeared in the interim.

The events following the moment he was wheeled over the threshold of the hospital were a blur. He could only remember the relief of being outside, of being able to breathe fresh air, and the twinges of residual pain as he was situated in the SUV that Sam had been compensated with after the loss of his car.

Holly, who had her job to contend with, could not be there as he was discharged, though she did send him an encouraging, "congratulations-you're-free" text message. He half-grinned as he read it. When she'd first offered her companionship, he had considered telling her 'no'. People willing to do so, in his experience, were few and far between. Longevity for the ones he did form connections with could not be counted on; he'd seen that proven true. But hadn't he encouraged Natasha to do the very same thing, to trust in someone without fear of repercussion or demands? To allow herself to be able to call on someone to be there for her, and do the same in return? The word "hypocrite" rang sharply in his head.

The issue of her safety hovered in the back of Steve's mind as the day for his freedom drew closer. She'd had a brush with the Winter Soldier, with Bucky, and she'd been identified as the one who saved him. Now she was on record, and Natasha had proven that anyone with a steady connection could get it and find her. Holly had the potential of being a person of interest were she to keep in contact with him, and that was dangerous. He toyed with the idea of cutting her off, for her own good.

As they pulled into the driveway, he snapped out of his thoughts.

Sam helped him up the stairs, stabilizing him as they went with his arm around his back. Unlocking the door, he allowed Steve to make his way slowly through his new environment.

"If you want, you can head back to your room, while I get the stuff out of the car," Sam said, indicating the duffel that had been left behind for the moment. Nodding, Steve moved around the kitchen table, glad for the straight shot of the hallway leading to his new room. Stopping dead in the doorway, he found himself staring inside. There wasn't anything wrong with the room itself, but he was stunned to find two things on the bed: a wrapped present, and his shield.

The last he'd heard, the shield had been lost in the Potomac as a result of the crashes. It seemed unlikely that the authorities would have the time to fish it out, and he had figured he would not find it for months, if ever again. And yet, here it was, the painted vibranium freshly cleaned and laying on his bed. The note on top had block lettering, and no signature, but he didn't have to guess who had retrieved it for him.

**Thought you'd want this back.**

_'Thanks, Nick,' _he mused, knowing that at some point he'd have to find Fury and thank him for its return. Briefly, he wondered when he approached Sam with it, or if he hadn't completely bypassed him and dropped it off while they were both at the hospital. Grabbing the shield, he lowered it down to rest along the side of his bed and turned his attention to the wrapped gift.

This one had to have been deliberately left by Sam, he knew that much. Sitting down, he flipped it over in his hands and looked at it carefully. It seemed harmless, rectangular in shape with odd lumps in the center and along the side. Tearing off the cheap wrapping paper, his eyebrows rising as the contents were revealed.

It was a sketchbook and some pencils, the kind that one could get from any hobby store. It certainly wasn't anything fancy, or even much like his leather-covered pocketbook, but to his mind, one could never have too many art supplies. It was his to fill up any way he chose, and he would not complain about that in the least. He flipped through the sheets, treasuring the familiar feeling of heavy paper under his fingers. Only one page was not useable, with a quickly scrawled letter treading across it.

_Steve,_

_This is both a present, and a thank you. A lot of people are safe today because of what you, and Sam, and Natasha did, including me. I appreciate that beyond words, knowing that you wouldn't risk your life for anything less. I don't know if I can articulate that any better, or if anyone can really ever repay you for that, but consider this as a beginning towards that._

_Use it in case those "other things" don't work out. Or even if they do, use it anyway._

_Holly M._

As he sat there, reading the letter and then proceeding to the next page to start drawing, the world around him ceased to exist. And in the back of his mind, he knew that his plans to separate permanently from his new friend were shot to hell.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** ...Yeah, this chapter took awhile. It was just stubborn about being written, but here it is. Sorry for the semi-delay; I wanted this to get done sooner, but alas...

Shout-out to Dumas and Tolkien. I love those authors.

I think it would be good for Steve to have a civilian friend, honestly. I don't want him to lose that here.

By the way, thanks to all my story followers and reviewers, and favorite-ers. I honestly do appreciate you all taking the time for this story, in any way, shape, or form.

Again, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Perhaps he was pushing his luck, so soon after his release from the hospital, but Steve had grown tired of just sitting around the house. He just couldn't take it anymore. The weeks of inaction had bothered him more than he could articulate and he had made up his mind to do something about it. The doctor, stunned by his progress, had given him the green light for exercise again as long as he paced himself. So, early on the Sunday after he'd first arrived at Sam's, he slipped out of the house as the sun began to light up the sky. Garbed in a hooded sweatshirt, t-shirt, and shorts, he began to loosen up his muscles. The familiar movements tugged at his body, and he rolled his shoulders to get out the last few kinks.

In another couple of days, he would head out to the nearby gym, get back into the rhythm of his usual routine. On that morning, he was set to just run. In light of recent events, he decided it would be best to just run around his new neighborhood, where nobody could recognize him as he passed. Doing laps around the National Mall was not an option, even at dawn. If, by chance, any of the bureaucrats caught sight of him, they'd most likely have him taken in for questioning. For the moment, he preferred the anonymity.

He set out at a light jog (for him), not willing to push himself so far that it would set back his recovery. Breathing in and out, he allowed the scenery to go by, concentrating on his heart rate and the motion of his legs as they propelled him forward. He could lose himself in the activity, forget about everything but charging ahead. Very few lights in the neighbors' houses were on, the streets were quiet as he crossed one way and then another.

In his childhood, Steve had done plenty of running, and not all of it was pleasant. He'd been chased down by bullies, back when he was far too little to begin standing up for himself. Combined with his asthma, it was a downright awful experience trying to get away from them. Running never accomplished anything; it made him winded and sick, and then he'd get beaten up anyway. Eventually he learned that it was better by far to stand his ground and face down his attackers. And then came boot camp, which was entirely different. Drills that involved running up and down the course, among other things, keeping him on his feet for hours until he thought they would bleed. It had worked him harder than he'd ever worked in his life, but it taught him endurance, something he'd held onto even after the serum injections.

After the procedure, he was amazed to be able to run without coughing or wheezing, not choking and praying that it wouldn't cost him his life to hoof it. He put a lot of stock in traveling by foot, whenever practical. Part of him was pleased to be able to finally do something people with normal breathing capacities could do, never mind a super soldier's.

Maybe his daily run, integrated since he'd "woken up" two years ago, was a retroactive way of showing himself that he could capable of it, no matter how much time had passed. It certainly held true as he weaved around a couple parked cars, the city coming alive around him as went on. Steve decided to pick up the pace, getting the blood flowing and his heart pumping. His hood had long since fallen back, a little sweat beginning to prickle along his brow. The wind rushed by his ears, the sounds of the day starting acting as his music.

Time passed, fluidly sliding by as he dodged across streets and through a park. He finally reached his midway point, plotted out the day before on his digital map, when the cell phone deep in his pocket started vibrating. Pausing to catch a breath, he pulled it out and accepted the call, not seeing the name on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Steve, it's Sam," came the other man's voice. He sounded a little concerned, but not distressed. "Where are you?"

He hadn't let his friend know he'd be leaving, but in his gut he could tell that this wasn't a courtesy check-up call. Steve glanced around, not seeing a street sign near him, and answered, "Not sure exactly where, but I'm out on a run. Is something wrong?"

"Well…"

"What is it?" At once he was at attention, alert to possible danger.

Sam sighed, "Natasha's here. Which, as you know, can either be good or bad."

A female voice, the words unintelligible to Steve's ear, cut in. From what he could tell, her tone was amused. Steve grimaced; Natasha often used humor to cushion the seriousness of a situation, making herself sound flippant to cope with the events at hand. So it was very possible that what she had come for wouldn't be good. A feeling akin to hope bloomed in his mind, wondering if she might have found something about Bucky and his time spent as the Winter Soldier. Maybe she'd been able to get information more readily than any of them thought possible.

Glancing at the watch secured to his wrist, he frowned at the digital display. He'd have to press hard to get back in a suitable amount of time; his run had taken him well out of the confines of Sam's neighborhood.

Pivoting on his heel, Steve started to make his way back. "I'll be there soon."

**xXxXxXx**

A blue Buick pulled up alongside the captain as he rounded the last corner from the apartment. The front passenger's window began to roll down, revealing another familiar face framed by brown hair.

"Need a ride?" Holly called out, leaning across the seat and slowing the vehicle down to his pace. She stopped when Steve did, grinning as he turned to face her. "Or are you good?"

He had thought, on the run back, about calling Holly and canceling. With Sam's approval, he had invited her a few days ago to come over and have breakfast, for her to see how both of the men were faring. It was a thank-you for the sketchbook, and a subtle way of encouraging himself to keep his new friend around. He could hear the genuine cheerfulness in her voice when she agreed to come. Granted, she had spent more time with him, but she seemed to be fond of Sam as well, and she was enthusiastic about seeing both of them again. The timing, though, was a little off; work and a girls' night out had prevented her coming around sooner. And honestly…he didn't want to turn her away. If what Natasha had to say needed to be confidential, then he could ask her to step outside for a few minutes.

Holly did not strike him as an intriguer, and would respect the wishes for privacy, should they be needed. She'd probably ask what was going on later, but most likely without a real expectation of getting answers. She'd learned so from Sam and from him.

"Considering we're about fifty feet away from the house, I think I can make it," he huffed, a little out of breath. The fact was confirmed by her GPS a moment later, and he snickered as she quickly shut it off. AT least she'd found the place alright. "You're early."

It was true; she wasn't supposed to arrive for another fifteen minutes, at least. She shrugged her shoulders and replied, "It's my curse. I bear it as best I can. I can circle the block a few times, if you'd rather, and pretend I'm not here for a little while."

Steve shook his head, rolling his eyes. He couldn't quite hide a smirk, though. "Just park and come in."

He waited on the steps while she parked, watching as she scrounged around in the backseat for a few seconds.

'_It's good to see her,'_ he thought, surprised by its surfacing.

Popping up, she held a grocery bag aloft and triumphantly slammed the door shut.

"My contribution," she explained, locking the car remotely and striding towards him. She scrutinized him, and he held himself still under her gaze. "You look so much better, Steve."

"I would hope so," he murmured, scratching his jaw lightly. Nearly all the cuts had healed, and the black eye he'd sported had disappeared. His muscles were sore, and he'd stretched them to the limit with his run, but he was feeling much like his old self again. Gesturing forward, he nodded for her to go ahead of him. "And hi, by the way."

"Hi, and thank you, sir," Holly said, slipping by with a polite dip of the head. Climbing after her, Steve winced as he mounted each step. Luckily, she didn't see that. She was too preoccupied with getting the door open and seeing the people in the kitchen. "Hey, Sam. Oh, and hi, Natasha. How are you?"

Coming up behind her, he could see over her head to his roommate, standing at the stove with a spatula in hand, and his would-be coworker seated at the kitchen table. Natasha looked well; she was dressed down for the occasion (long-sleeved blouse, dark jeans), her red hair combed into place. Her eyes darted from Holly to Steve and then back again, assessing them both silently. Still, she was able to give Holly a genial grin.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"You joining us?" Holly asked, curious. She couldn't help but think, with the way Sam was trying to act nonchalant while stirring the scrambled eggs, and with Steve standing stiffly behind her, that this was not entirely expected.

Natasha, for her part, waved a hand dismissively. "I intended to stop by for a minute, but if you're offering…"

Holly pointed at the two men. "I'm okay with it, but hey, it's up to them."

With that, she moved off to one of the counters, lowering her grocery bag and effectively passing the buck to either one of the gentlemen of the house. Steve shared a nod with Sam and excused himself to shower and change. He shot Natasha one long look, flicking his eyes to Holly briefly and raising his eyebrows minutely before heading down the hall. _Play nice, Nat._

Her silent response was a smirk and tiny nod of her own. _Loud and clear, Cap._

Sam snorted, having witnessed all this and just shook his head good-naturedly. "Can you hand me the pepper, Holly?"

There was no awkward or tense scene to be entered on when Steve had finished cleaning himself up. Natasha was being personable, though she did not often speak. She did have a talent for making herself blend and fit where she needed to. Though the meeting was tentative at first, soon enough the quartet was able to reach equilibrium in conversation, with a couple of shared laughs. Sam had done the bulk of the cooking, with Holly providing donuts and bagels ("Dinners are okay, but good lord, I suck at making breakfast. Don't ask me how, I don't get it, either.").

Steve didn't trust the calm when it descended on the foursome. He knew the other shoe was about to drop. And, midway through the meal, it did.

"The Senate has called a hearing regarding Project: Insight, and the crashes," Natasha interjected smoothly, spearing a bit of egg and toying with it. Before anyone could react to that piece of news, she continued, "They launched an investigation, almost as soon as the last of the major parts of the wreckage were cleared."

Holly, clearing her throat, made to rise from the table. "I can leave-"

Natasha's hand flew up preemptively, stopping both her and any other responses from their fellow companions. "No, no, stay. It'll all be public knowledge eventually, anyway."

Holly's brow furrowed, but she sat back down. "Okay, if you don't mind."

She was speaking nominally to the other woman, but her eyes were on Steve, asking him whether he wanted her to stay. A moment passed, as he turned it over in his mind. Natasha deemed her worthy of the information, so he wouldn't send her out. He inclined his head before gesturing his compatriot to keep going.

"The extent to which HYDRA infiltrated SHIELD was massive, and the off-shoots are numerous. They aren't pleased with what they've found thus far."

"Seems like you're understating a tad," Sam ventured. Natasha shot him an exasperated look. "I bet they're not 'pleased' with what we did, either."

"Definitely not. They're demanding an explanation, at the very least, as to why we trashed what the tax payers paid for."

"Seriously?" Holly scoffed, narrowing her eyes that. "They want _you_ to furnish the reasons why you decided to take out what was essentially a weapon of mass destruction programmed by an evil organization?"

Natasha passed a hand over her face, replying, "Believe it or not, yes, that's exactly what they want. They want us to answer for our actions. Or, more specifically, one of us to answer for it."

Silence stretched as Sam and the two women studiously avoided looking at Steve. It wasn't surprising, in the least, that the government would look to Captain America as the scapegoat of the situation, as he was the one who made the official declaration of intent against the carriers' launch. A weight began to settle on his shoulders; he'd been prepared to take responsibility for his actions, one way or another, but it didn't make the idea of a court hearing more palatable.

He sighed, muttering, "So it's a matter of time before they come looking for me."

Natasha nodded, raising her chin and sitting up straight. "They won't."

Off his inquisitive expression, she pressed on, "A summons for you is out of the question, for several reasons. One of which being that nobody wants to see a national hero defending himself for doing the right thing, and risking his life for doing so. It'll be taken care of, as long as you keep your head down and out of sight for the time being."

Ah, so that was why she was here, then: to warn him before he got caught unawares.

"How can you guarantee that?" Holly inquired, unsure despite Natasha's confident tone. "I mean, I agree that Steve shouldn't be summoned-none of you should, in my opinion-but how…"

Natasha gave her a small, mysterious smile. The promise in her eyes was intriguing, and Steve could see that whatever needed to be done would have a cost. But for once, he wouldn't have to pay the price. He could see that she was offering to help him herself, for the sake of helping him out. "Trust me."

Without any further explanation, Natasha excused herself from the table, with a final warning tossed over her shoulder for the pair of men to keep low profiles while she went to work. As the door clicked into place behind her, Steve inhaled sharply, unaware that he'd stopped breathing at all. Sam, meanwhile, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes before getting up and meandering into his own room, to 'process it all.' Silence enveloped the pair remaining at the table, the stillness filled with doubt and uncertainty.

"I hope you can trust her," Holly offered hesitantly, trying to keep her tone positive. Steve kept his gaze fixed on the middle distance, chewing it over. He leaned forward, pushing his empty plate away and folded his hands on the table in front of him.

"I can," he responded simply. He'd come through for her; this was her chance to do the same. And Natasha didn't do anything by halves, if she could possibly help it. "I have to."

Gently, he felt light pressure on his fingers, and he looked down to find Holly's right hand over his. Squeezing gently, she patted them a couple times for good measure. Her face, though creased with concern, sported a tiny grin, and her wide eyes reflecting trust in his judgment. "Then that's it, then."

Standing, she gathered up the dishes left over on the table, shooting him another half grin before moving away towards the sink. Calling out, she told Sam she'd take care of the plates and pans. A beat passed, with him pondering the idea of keeping a low profile, staying under the radar. Of being, essentially, a normal civilian.

He'd been in action for so long, he could barely remember what it was like to not be on the move. There was always the next mission, the next test. It was strange, to find himself in a period of calm after the major storms of war and battle. And he knew it wouldn't last for long, but it was still foreign to him.

His gaze was drawn to the woman at the sink, her hands moving studiously to fill up the sides with warm and cold water, and stacking the other dishes alongside on the counter. Taking the elastic from her wrist, Holly bound back her hair to keep it out of her face, to allow her to continue unhindered. Doing the dishes. A common action, one he'd seen (and participated in himself) many times. Garden variety domesticity.

There was peacefulness in the mundane activity, which Steve hadn't noticed before.

_'I can do it, I can make it work,'_ he mused, getting out of the chair and coming around her left. He could train, he could run, and he could rest. He could rest, and prepare for when the time came to find Bucky. As long as he was able to keep moving, one way or another.

"I'll dry," he offered as she scrubbed the egg pan. Grabbing the towel hanging from the rack on the wall, he gathered a plate from the cool water and began doing just that.

And he did well with it, until Holly began flicking dishwater at his face. Soon enough, the seriousness of the morning was put to the back of their minds as they engaged in a miniature water battle, snickering as they both got in their shots.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So this was a fairly Steve-centric chapter. I had intended to write it from Holly's perspective, but Steve…well, he wouldn't let me. Hope it didn't bother you all too much (like it ever could, haha).  
>So now he's got to keep out of sight, at least as far as the Senate and government are concerned, at least for the present. I'm sure he'll find things to keep himself occupied…<br>Thanks for reading, review if you so wish, and I will see you next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

It was time, he had said. Time to tackle…the list.

Holly had learned, surprisingly, that Steve Rogers had a running list of things that he "had to" learn about now that he was back and alive in the real world. The list was ongoing, to be added to and altered as time went on, but the basics remained the same: it had to be something he'd missed in his time asleep, and was considered a must-have to understanding the modern world around him. And now, now he had the time to start cracking away at it. (It should be mentioned that he had, with a moment of quiet pride, struck off the _Troubleman_ soundtrack immediately following his hospital release. Sam claimed to have never been more pleased with anything than with that action, and both shared a laugh at his sarcasm.)

It amused her to think that he would compile such a list, but as she thought about it, she found it to be a practical endeavor. Looking at it from his point of view, she knew that she'd have to get up to date on major events that happened just to get an idea of what people were talking about. Living in the past would be no help if he wanted to thrive as well as survive.

A few days after the brunch with Natasha, he'd called and asked her to help him with a few things on it. Looking at the clock, she figured that her lunch break would be the best time to do so, and made plans to see him then. Meeting him a few blocks away at a café, she stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted him waiting for her out front. His civilian clothes were fine—privately, she thought he could wear a potato sack and still look good—but the pair of horn rimmed glasses and the baseball cap, not to mention the high top sneakers, threw her off a little.

"What?" he asked, noticing her staring after a few moments. Part of her brain, the part that she had to force into a box for the blatant honesty, was screaming about the pseudo-hipster-urban look of the whole ensemble and how it really, _really_ wasn't fair for him to look good in that, too.

Shaking her head to dislodge those thoughts (and to push back the blush that crept up at being caught gawking), she looked pointedly at the glasses before tugging playfully on the bill of his hat. "Nice look. So you're a Dodgers fan?"

Sheepishly, he ducked his head, swatting her hand away and his little half grin playing on his lips. "For over ninety years."

It still jarred a little to hear him reference his age and have the appearance of a young man. Given that it was true, though, she really could respond to it in any other way than a nod and smile back. He professed that he hadn't thought she knew much about baseball, and in truth she didn't, but she could recognize logos. They moved to go inside, the discussion turning towards advertising logos in general and which ones had changed since the 1940's. Discreetly she watched him while he talked, while he in turn was surreptitiously watching everything else around them. There had been too many surprises in the last few months, and he was trying to not be caught off-guard again. With his disguise, he appeared as though he belonged, but as he held the door open for her and let her go in first, she caught him fidgeting with the fake glasses out the corner of her eye. Her attention turned to the hostess, who gave them the option to sit out on the patio as the weather was pleasant enough for it.

Holly was more than eager for the opportunity, as she would be cooped up in the office all afternoon once her break was over, and with Steve's agreement, they headed that way.

"This is the upshot of living here, as opposed to back home," she told him upon sitting down (he'd held out the chair for her, another surprise, and just shook off her quiet proclamation that he didn't have to do so). "Spring is actually spring here; in Minnesota, there'd be a chance of snow still on the ground."

"And is there still snow on the ground there?" He was curious; Steve had been to so many places in the world, but never the Midwest. On the news, it had been reported about the winter chills and snow engulfing a good portion of the country, but he hadn't paid too much attention to it. In his mind, an image of a frozen tundra and people tunneling through it popped up. He furrowed his brow, trying to keep the image in mind for later. It could make for a funny cartoon or comic…

"Unfortunately for my family, yes. On and off all month," Holly said, sounding as irritated for them as they must have been. "Dad's been bouncing off the walls for long enough already from being stuck inside. It's driving Mom up the wall."

He snorted. From what Holly had told him, her father worked building houses for most of his life, a very physical job. He was an active outdoorsman as well. He sympathized with him. "Poor woman."

"You have no idea," she laughed, looking at the menu before her and considering it quickly. "Anyway, you were saying you were thinking about getting some books on the phone. I have to ask: why not go to the library?"

Of course, Steve had considered the library, but inevitably he'd want to take materials home with him, and he couldn't very well do so without positive identification of a card in his name. That definitely wouldn't work with the whole "lie low" edict that Natasha had mentioned. Holly nodded, apologizing for her momentary idiocy at not realizing that fact (half in jest, of course, if the crooked grin she gave him was any indication). Sam, being that he was less well-known, could still move around fluidly, but he didn't want to be dependent on the man. Steve wanted to do for himself as much as he could, and to be honest, he was still a little leery of online companies. Any of them, really; most of what he'd owned in the last two years had been either provided by SHIELD or he went to a real store to get it from. No credit cards, just cash for the present, to pay for his expenditures. And so, he turned to another source: Holly.

They got down to business after the food had been ordered and the menus whisked away. For a few of them, he was willing to have any help, and deep down she was very pleased to be the one he called on.

"If you stop by the bookstore, I can get a copy of Steve Jobs' biography for you," Holly said, scanning over the list that Steve let her borrow. It was inconspicuous, red and flipping open easily. "We might have a few books on the Cold War and the moon landing, too…I mean, if you aren't up to looking at the Wikipedia pages."

Steve shook his head. "I've browsed Wikipedia. I'd rather have actual accredited research books."

She snickered. "There's a reason professors across the country were screaming against it during the last ten years or so."

"I can imagine. And thanks."

She shrugged. "It's no problem. I will say, though, that you're very fortunate to have me as a friend. I'll be your inside man, so to speak."

Returning her smile, he nodded. She was more right than either of them would care to admit. "Very fortunate."

After a moment of silence, Steve cleared his throat, and Holly gestured at the list, murmuring, "Again, I can help you find that stuff at the store later. You can use my employee discount for it, too."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Yes…if you let me help you with one more thing on the list."

"Which one?"

Her smile turned almost predatory, and he pulled back in his chair at the sight. She pointed, tapping the item in question with barely subdued eagerness. "That one."

**xXxXxXx**

"Let me get this straight: it's a long time ago, but it's set in a futuristic alien galaxy?" Steve muttered, watching the opening text of _Star Wars: A New Hope_ scroll up on the television screen. He settled back on the couch, screwing up his face in confusion already. "And this is the fourth installment? How does that make sense?"

Holly, the ranking veteran at that particular moment, glanced at him and scoffed, "Suspend your disbelief, you nerfherder. The movie hasn't even officially started yet."

Friday night found Steve in an entirely new environment: Holly's apartment. When she pointed it out on the list, she insisted that Steve experience them for the first time in her company. She had gone full tilt with it, revealing her loves of the movies that she'd had since the age of ten. If she could've been anything in the world, she'd claimed that she would've become a Jedi. It was interesting to see her enthusiasm for it all; in fact, it was funny to see her bounce around, talking about land speeders and sabers and all kinds of things he didn't understand. (For _Star Trek_, though, he was on his own; she had no love for the television/film franchise, and even the newer movies did not make a lasting impression on her. Except for Kirk, whoever that was; he'd shrugged the comment off at the time.) It was the earliest she could squeeze it in between work and her friend Sarah's birthday party, and as she was the one with a schedule to respect at the moment, he waited until then.

He found it difficult to turn down her offer to host, and so there he was. Her place was nice enough, the walls decorated with photos and even a couple framed movie posters. Two filled bookshelves framed the television, the movies stored in the stand below. The kitchen and the dining area were small, but then again, he didn't expect everyone to have the spacious accommodations that he was lucky enough to get once he'd moved to D.C. The rest of the apartment remained a mystery, for the time being; the main action was to take place in the living room, and he didn't want to pry.

Everything was prepared: popcorn in a big bowl on the coffee table, a couple sodas each waiting beside it, and the DVD waiting in its case by the player. As she bade him sit, Holly told him that if he had any questions, he could ask her as the film went on. And if became a fan, she told him, she would be so pleased. A little selfish, because she would have been the witness to that event; she even said so herself, preening a little in her logoed t-shirt before popping the disk in.

He turned his head, his confusion growing. "What did you just call me?"

Struggling not to laugh too hard, she waved a hand. "Never mind, you'll find out in the next movie."

He flashed a concerned look in her direction, a little daunted at the prospect of continuing the marathon. "I'm not doing all six in one night."

Mentally she gave him brownie points for having at least discovered how many there were in the saga. "Of course not, this is just the introduction. I know you old men need your rest."

His blues eyes lit up, and his face creased with mock fury. "Don't call me old, _kid_."

"Stop referencing it yourself, then, old man," she replied, turning her gaze back to the television and patting his knee in excitement. "Look, look! It's starting."

It was hard to detach from her joy, to pull away from the excitement in her voice, and so he didn't try to. Not too hard, at least. He wanted to remain skeptical, a little bit, about a film that featured a war between different races in a galaxy far, far away. Having lived through something similar to that, he didn't think that the story could be as engaging as what he'd truly experienced. He didn't know if he could be distracted by that.

He didn't know if he could, in that moment, be distracted from the fact that Holly had chosen to sit so close to him. The opening onscreen firefight and flight of the two droids (Droids? Oh, they were robots. He wondered if this was where Stark got his desire to install his robotics in and around his homes) were doing a fair job, but he couldn't fully put it out of his mind. If she moved an inch to the right, they'd bump shoulders. From the moment they'd met, she'd been so careful about not invading his space, not coming too close, as though her touch would set back his recovery. Little by little, though, she'd been breaking those strictures with a shoulder tap here or a hand pat there. She hadn't initially struck him as tactile, but perhaps she was holding back for propriety's sake. Physical contact, in a non-combative form, was not something that he was used to anymore. People only got close to him now if the plane was crowded, or if they were attacking him. Or if they wanted something from him, they'd invade his space to prove a point. To have someone touch him with kind intent was…strange.

That wasn't to say he didn't like it. In fact, if he were being honest—

"What _are_ those things?" Steve remarked, forcibly turning his mind back to the movie and pointing at the tiny creatures in hooded robes.

_Stay focused,_ he chastised himself. _It's nothing._

Holly laughed, grabbing a handful of popcorn out of the bowl. When she leaned back into the couch, she leaned against his arm, and stayed put, munching on the popcorn. The feeling of her settling drew his eyes back to her, her body heat mixing with his. Her brown eyes were bright as she returned his faux inquisitive look.

"Jawas."

"Oh…that's weird."

—If he were being honest, he didn't mind it at all.

And if his wide-eyed, slightly opened-mouth reaction to the remainder of the film's events were anything to go by, he didn't mind the movie all that much, either.

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I don't own any of the plot points, characters or terminology from the _Star Wars _franchise. Thinks that's fairly obvious; otherwise I'd be rolling in dough from the royalties.

**A/N:** …Do you guys know how hard it is to reconcile a fluid timeline? To put an actual date and time on a single film from a much bigger universe, to make it all coincide with a story's plot, because they had to place it in the present day? A lot of people may view that a film's release date would indicate its occurrence (i.e. Iron Man 3 takes place during Spring 2013 due to its premiere). BUT BUT BUT—and that's a lot of "buts"—that doesn't work when it transitions between seasons from one scene to another. (Again, I bring up IM3, when Tony flies off in the suit to save himself and lands in a snowy Tennessee, so it mostly likely takes place in winter of 2012-2013, with the end scene with Banner possibly in spring.) That doesn't work on a "real-time" storyline. So consequently, one cannot pin it all down and wrap it up with a neat little bow. For the sake of this story, I have perceived the events of CA:TWS to have started at the end March of 2014 (which would place this story, as of this moment, at the end of April or thereabouts).

I'm sure you were all pleased to sit through my little rant. Sorry about that…

Also, no offense meant to the owners of Wikipedia. I actually like it; I have spent a lot of time looking up random historical figures on that site. However, I will point out that due to the multitude of sources that are not all credible there, a lot of teachers/professors I had during my school years strongly advised people not to use it as a source. Just making it clear that I intended no evil there. One last thing: I was bloody pleased to see that _Star Wars_ had made Steve's list in the film. I love those movies. Original trilogy FTW (although I do like Ewan McGregor's Obi-Wan Kenobi).

Sorry that this one is so much shorter than the others, but…that's the way the cookie crumbles sometimes. Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the material, plot points, or characters from the _Star Wars_ saga. Also, there are spoilers for some of the films' events. I also don't own the mentioned events of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier._ No money for me, no sir...

* * *

><p>The chimes of a ringtone pulled Steve out of the depths of sleep. Opening his eyes, he blinked lazily as he glanced around his room, which had darkened considerably. Last thing he'd known, he was paging through the Steve Jobs biography, fighting off a wave of tiredness that had come over him as best he could. His sketchbook sat to his right, open to a half-finished drawing, in case he wished to complete it. It was a lazy day for him, yet another in the stream of his hiding out from the government.<p>

The night before, he'd gone back over to Holly's, intent on finish the original trilogy they had started a couple of days previously. It was an endeavor they had undertaken together, and he felt it would be right to continue with her. His imagination had conjured up an impression of what her disappointment and rage would be like if he'd done it on his own, so he didn't try too hard to fight against this plan. With Sam going out with the girl from reception (seems that having aided Captain America really caught her attention) he figured he could use the opportunity to his advantage. And Holly, too excited for him to complete the last two movies, had agreed to his plan of action, reckoning that she would probably be up anyway and it wouldn't impede work the next day. It was a little after midnight when the end credits for the final movie rolled across the screen, and he was glad to have gotten at least halfway through it all.

He had to admit to himself that the films, thus far, were good. He could respect the time and effort taken for each movie, and a little part of him thought that a blaster would've been a better weapon than the handguns he'd dealt with while facing HYDRA soldiers back in the day. He'd also noticed the heavy-handed comparisons between the Imperial stormtroopers and the Emperor to his past life experiences. It was a little unsettling, but he got some retroactive satisfaction in seeing these fellows being dealt with easily. At least someone had a less stressful experience with the enemy. And the plot twists? Well, considering that "vader" in amalgamated German meant "father", that particular truth from the fifth movie didn't shock him terribly much. Luke and Leia being revealed as related in the sixth one? _That_ blindsided him.

"_And somehow she always _knew_?" he had asked incredulously, his face scrunching in a mix of disgust and surprise. "And she kissed him anyway?"_

_Holly nodded, only to shake her head a few seconds later. "Well, one of those was to prove a point to Han..."_

_Steve snorted. "Yeah, that really doesn't help."_

"_...Yeah, I know."_

"_If that's an initiation rite for becoming a Jedi, count me out."_

_She stuck her tongue out at him. "Shut up."_

_He snickered at her, his mouth twisting in a smirk. "At least the army doesn't make you kiss your sister when you join."_

"_SHUT UP!" She tried to look serious as she said that, but she couldn't hold back the giggles as she spoke. She lightly backhanded him in the chest, catching him off-guard and causing his smirk to break into an honest smile as he chuckled._

"_Oooh, that smarts," he mocked her, "don't know how I'll recover from that."_

_She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in faux frustration and getting off the sofa. As she walked away, she threw over her shoulder, "Well, I'll be in the kitchen while you're nursing your wounds, nerfherder."_

"_Okay, princess," he shot back, hearing her teeth audibly grind as she continued on her path towards the kitchen. "Or should I say, 'committee'?"_

"_Ugh!"_

_Oh, he was having fun, despite or because of the lateness of the hour. If there was one thing that could be said of living at that time, it was that he was getting better at talking to women. He still wasn't a smooth talker, but at least he wasn't the blunderer that he once was._

Steve had left shortly thereafter, receiving a brief hug from Holly and an admonition to be safe on the road home. His arms reacted automatically, but quickly he allowed himself to register the action, curling them around her gently. A renegade thought, one that he wouldn't acknowledge at the time, reveled in how nice it felt. It had been some time since the last time he'd been so close to someone...

_'And you need to let go now,' _his brain chided him, forcing him to separate from her rather quickly or risk looking like a fool. Promising to be safe, he'd exited, sneaking a glance over his shoulder one more time to catch her standing by the door and watching him leave.

Today, Steve had spent him time at the gym, knocking around a few punching bags and a training dummy, falling back into a varied routine as he moved from one fighting style to another. He flicked his wrists every so often, imagining the shield that he did not bring with him bouncing off invisible targets and readjusting his positions accordingly. One of the few things he missed about SHIELD were the training facilities; they were top-notch and included the best equipment. He also had trained operatives as sparring partners to keep him in form. Perhaps he was overcompensating for the lack of assistance and overdid it in the gym (with a couple of bystanders staring at him in awe when he'd left behind three ripped bags and busted dummy; an apology note and a couple hundreds were left on the front desk for the owner as a result) but when he arrived back at the apartment, he felt a little tired. Some light reading wouldn't overtax him. Taking a nap mid-chapter was not part of the original equation, but it happened nonetheless.

The digital clock on the side table read three in the morning, the face lit up by the shining phone screen.

Blinking again, he groaned to himself, realizing he'd napped far too long. That, and he'd have to read the last chapter over again, as he could recall nothing from it. Frowning, he set off to the side, rolling over to switch on the lamp. The flooding brightness stung momentarily, but he ignored that in favor of finding out exactly who decided to get in touch with him at this point in the night. There was both a missed call and a text message, with no sender name attached. Furrowing his brow, he swiped slowly over the screen, tapping the icon to open the text first. It was one of those group messages, with Sam and Natasha's numbers included as well.

**Graveyard. The plot. 11 AM. Delete this.**

Letting out a sigh, he shook his head, scrubbing his face with his free hand. It could only have been Fury, he mused. Well, it appeared that he and Sam would be busy tomorrow morning. Idly, he wondered if his friend would be able to get off of work for a little while for the meeting.

Tiredly, he tapped the missed call notification, which revealed that a voice message had been left. Listening to it, his eyes went wide.

"Steve, it's Natasha. The hearing is scheduled for tomorrow. I'm taking care of it, don't worry. Turn on CNN around eight AM if you want to catch the free show."

With a click, the message ended, and Steve leaned back against his pillow, grimacing to himself. He'd thought that they would've had more time, but evidently the Senate was eager to get the entire ordeal cleaned up and taken care of now. His entire hospital stay and two weeks after that, they'd dithered on the subject, but it still was moving a little quickly for his liking. Natasha was keeping her promise, but he knew she was doing so at a great cost to herself. She truly must have taken his words to heart, in establishing her true self, in trusting others and in turn having them trust her. All he could hope was that she wouldn't have to give up too much, just for him.

"Better not miss the show," he mumbled under his breath, rotating to set the alarm on his clock. Hesitating, he grabbed his phone one more time. Laboring over the small keyboard (his fingers were a little big, and he wasn't the most adept at texting, anyway) he sent off a few messages of his own before tossing the phone away and rolling over to pass out again.

**-Natasha, thank you. Good luck.**

**-I'll be there. Deleting the message now.**

**-Holly, if you get a chance...watch CNN tomorrow morning.**

**xXxXxXx**

Holly had been curious, and not a little suspicious, to find a text from Steve on her phone the following morning. Usually he called her when he wanted to get in touch, but she supposed that the time dictated the action. (Sending a text at three o'clock was preferable to getting a call at that time. She might have murdered him for that, superhero or not. Not literally, but she really hated being woken up that late for trivial things.) In any case, she had to wonder what he was on about, and naturally she switched on the television a little after eight-thirty, after scrounging around for some breakfast. Clicking through the channels, she found CNN and sank back into the couch, bagel in hand. The hearing room onscreen was packed with committee members and officers, while journalists and reporters hovered behind the defendant's seat. Photographers made their presence known with flashes going off every so often. A bailiff stood to one side, and security guards flanked the entrance.

"...Could explain how this country is expected to maintain its national security now that he and you have laid waste to our intelligence apparatus."

The camera cut from the speaking general to Natasha, who was seated before the panel. She was dressed soberly, arms crossed over her black blazer and her hair hanging loose. Her face was a picture of placidity, though as he said that, her brow furrowed slightly.

"Natasha?" Holly wondered to herself. She had clearly tuned in somewhere towards the middle of the hearing. Reading the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen, it summed up the previous events that she missed: SHIELD OPERATIVES SECRETLY WORK FOR ENEMY ORGANIZATION, BLACK WIDOW TESTIFIES, CAPTAIN AMERICA STILL MISSING.

"HYDRA was selling you _lies_, not intelligence," Natasha spoke, staring down the man with her head cocked to the left.

_'You tell him,' _Holly thought, grinning widely at the agent's response.

"Many of which you seemed to have a personal hand in telling!" he retorted hotly. Holly watched silently, transfixed by Natasha's courage. When the other woman had indicated that the hearing would be taken care of, it hadn't occurred to her that Natasha would in turn be selling herself out. She was a secret agent, a field operative, she knew that much, but she didn't know to what lengths she would personally go for this trial. Now, she understood.

Another on the panel commented that due to the agent's service record all across the board, she should be sent to a federal prison. She, in their eyes, had no right to be seated before them, giving them a tongue lashing and being a smartmouth in general. Holly blanched on behalf on the woman in question, who continued to hold her ground. Her firsthand experience with Natasha had taught her that she would not be easily cowed or swayed by words, but would instead be the intimidating one.

A brief moment of silence followed, in which Romanoff was compiling her answer. Confidently, she expressed her surety of never being sent to prison, due to the fact that she, and by extension Steve and Sam, were among the best equipped to protect a vulnerable world. Indeed, though they had had a hand in making it that way, they would be the ones to fix the errors made on all accounts. To be held in a penitentiary somewhere would be counterproductive, though she took a moment to dare the counsel to arrest her anyway.

"You'll know where to find me," she said, finishing her speech. The camera caught her flicking her eyes to each member on the hearing committee, blasting them with her icy clarity and truth. Swiftly, as though answering an unheard call, she rose from her chair, striding out of the proceedings with her head held high. Holly, in turn felt an upsurge of pride for her.

Not knowing her very well personally, she still felt glad that she'd stood her ground, told the truth and exposed a corrupt system so that the country could still recover from before it was too late. And she'd done so without destroying another's life in the process. She had to know that she could pick herself back up, but not at the cost of a friend's life and credibility. It was good to see Steve's trust in her be rewarded.

"Good job," she commented to the screen, though Natasha would never hear her say so and she had long since left the hearing. The cameras went back to the main newsroom, where the anchors began to speculate about the nation's future security measures and how the Black Widow's confessions would ultimately affect the outcome of such things. What mattered to her, however, was that Steve was safe and free. That filled her with so much relief and gladness she almost sagged at the thought.

And then she glanced at the clock, realizing how close she was cutting it this morning. Remembering her bagel, she wolfed it down and ran off to finish getting ready for work.

**xXxXxXx**

His phone chimed at him once more, but at least it didn't wake him up that time.

**I caught the show. So now that SHIELD's completely gone, you gonna start on those "other things" now?**

Holly had sent Steve that message while he was on his way to the graveyard, and he still had not answered when they got there. Of course, she hadn't forgotten his comments about his future plans while he was in the hospital, and she wasn't likely to not notice that he was, essentially, waiting to act on them. All fun aside, she knew he had other ideas in mind. He wasn't sure he could give her a straight answer, and so he left it be.

Though the meeting at Nick Fury's grave was ostensibly to be offered a chance to eliminate remaining HYDRA cells in Europe, Natasha had something to offer him as well, he would come to find out. Steve and Sam had waited by the plot, the dirt fresh and the headstone clean. It was slightly disconcerting, looking at the grave of a man still living. Fury himself had arrived with patched jeans and a hooded jacket, his patch replaced by a set of sunglasses, looking much better than he had a month ago. Looking down at the grave, with a new bouquet at the foot, he sighed.

"So," he muttered, "you've experienced this sort of thing before."

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "You get used to it."

When they inevitably declined Fury's offer, he didn't push the matter. It had to be the first time Steve had seen him not insist on his participation; in fact, he just seemed to let it roll off his back. Though he shook their hands and bid them a somewhat questionable farewell, he could feel in his bones that it wouldn't be too long before he saw the ex-director again.

Perhaps he knew that too, deep down. Maybe that's why he was able to let it go.

After he left, Natasha came forward, her suit exchanged for more casual attire. With all her covers blown, she was off to make a new one for herself. Still, she was smiling as she said it, looking pleased at the prospect of creating something different out of the wreckage of SHIELD. It was encouragement for him to keep doing the same.

And then she handed the folder to him, all previous enjoyment sliding off his face. It felt like a lead weight in his hands, holding him in place as he stared down at it. A few favors from Kiev, Natasha had said it took. Her contacts, most likely the last of them (save for Barton, who was waiting for Nick in London, he would find out later) had pulled through. It was here, all of what he desperately wanted to know. The official truth of what had happened to Bucky.

"Can you do me a favor?" she asked him, drawing his attention back to her face. "Call that nurse."

The nurse...the agent who had posed as his neighbor over the last few months. He'd half-forgotten about her, occupied as he had been with taking down SHIELD, recovering, and other things.

"She's not a nurse," he replied, a wry smile on his lips. Recalling her, he remembered her blonde hair and dark eyes, and how pretty she was. And he remembered the admiration he felt for her, whenever they exchanged pleasantries in the hall. But soon enough, that was replaced by the feeling of shock at discovering the truth about her, the irritation at finding out that Fury couldn't trust him enough to defend himself. The anger he felt at being duped, and her waltzing out of Price's office, unapologetic. It wasn't fair, he understood that, to judge her for doing her job. However, it didn't sit well with him that she had lied to him so brazenly for months and he didn't have a clue. That she was part of the group that was organizing and manipulating everything behind his back.

And something else, a surge of feeling that his mind had labeled as betrayal, sped through his veins. It was sudden, off-putting, but it was there. He stamped down on it as quickly as he could, unwilling to give it more attention at the moment.

"And you're not a SHIELD agent," Natasha reminded him, answering his grin with her own. In truth, he never really was, but that was beside the point. She tapped a piece of paper clipped to the file, a phone number written on it in her neat handwriting. "Her name's Sharon. She's nice."

The sincerity in Natasha's voice touched him, and he could only answer back with a wistful grin. She genuinely wanted him to do it, to be happy. But whether or not he followed her advice as out of her hands, and she knew that, too. Right now, he had other things to attend to. She leaned forward then, rising up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek good-bye. Neither knew when they would see one another again, but they silently wished each other the best of luck.

"Be careful, Steve," she told him, throwing him a concerned look as she walked away. Nodding at the folder in his hands, she went on. "You might not want to pull on that thread."

Telling him so was futile, but she had stated her feelings on the matter as clearly as she could in those short sentences. He said nothing to that, dropping his eyes down and listening as her footsteps took her further and further away. Taking a deep breath, slid one finger under the cover, opening the file. Two pictures were clipped to the front, opposite a ream of documents littered with notes and official seals.

A face in a frozen chamber, the eyes closed but the expression peaceful greeted his sight first, and then he trailed his gaze down to the inset one. Bucky, wearing his cap and uniform, looked off in the distance. Both were of the same person, but they could not have appeared to be more different. Still, it was him. His friend, his companion, his brother in bond. The Winter Soldier. It was all right here, he would finally know.

Sam, a solid wall behind him, spoke up then. "You're going after him."

He didn't look at him, but acknowledged his words with a grimace. "I'm not asking you to come with me."

"I know...when do we start?"

A minute or two passed, with Steve gazing at the folder but seeing nothing. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable, and he had known for weeks what his course of action would be. Snapping it shut, he raised his head. "Now."

It was time to head home, to begin sketching out a plan of action, and to study the file in its entirety. Finally, he had an answer, and as he walked back to the car with Sam, he pulled out his phone and replied to Holly's previous message.

**Starting now, yes.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** About time, right? I know the chapter was mostly about events in the movie, but they are the lead-in to the rest of the story's action, so please don't hate me too much.

Will Sharon/Agent 13 be making an appearance in the future? Will Steve call her? Honestly, I don't know. And I do know that canonically she and Steve get together, but during the movie, I just didn't get that vibe. Yeah, the screenwriters can claim "planting the seeds" for that, but I just didn't see it, even before I started writing this fiction. That's just me, personally...maybe I'm blind or something.

And in case anyone is wondering about the timing of the fic, it's around early May 2014, for reference.

By the way, thanks to everyone who has followed/story-alerted this fic. I appreciate that more than I can say. And thanks to everyone who has reviewed as well, you guys make my day and really help me out.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

Holly briskly strode down the sidewalk, leaving her car in the lot behind her. Jogging, she cut across the grass towards the nondescript apartment building. She felt like she was going to be late, even though it hardly mattered if she arrived on time at this place. What mattered was that she came. And after the long day she'd had at work, she was more than glad to arrive at any point here. Stealing swiftly through the side door, she jogged down the hall and halted before the door marked #7. Pounding lightly, she heard the stirring within and stepped back a little as the door was thrown open.

"Hey!"

A petite blonde whirlwind seemed to come at her, and all she could do was open her arms and allow herself to be hugged tightly. Sarah Collins was her best friend, after all, and could hardly be denied the gesture.

Sarah was one of the few people Holly had met when she first moved out to the East Coast, a tiny girl who had wandered into the bookstore to escape a deluge of rain. She could not be ignored, with her graceful bearing and her bright, happy vocals as she practically trilled away about this, that, and the other thing. Instead of feeling annoyed, the lonely girl at the till was grateful to have someone to talk to her like she wasn't an idiot just there to ring up the books. Soon enough, the two became fast and close friends.

"Feels like I haven't seen you in forever, girl. How are you?" she asked, her voice cheerful and her green eyes wide as she led the way into her apartment. Holly stepped after her, careful to keep her longer stride short so she didn't overtake her friend. Seating herself on the couch, she tucked a leg under her knee, while Sarah was seated cross-legged down the way. A wine bottle and two glasses waited on the coffee table, and both young women indulged in a glass. Glancing around, the familiar sights of old trophies and the pictures of little girls in sequined outfits filtering amongst the other bookshelf knick-knacks met Holly's gaze. Sarah, having danced from a young age, had taken up the mantle of instructor several years ago, and her devotion to her pupils—her girls, she called them—showed in every corner of the living room.

"I'm good," she answered, giving her friend a saucy grin over the rim of her glass. "It's been two weeks since your birthday. You getting so old you forgot that already?"

"Yes, I'm so ancient now," snorted Sarah, waving away the jab with a flick of her fingers. Given that she was only twenty-four, two years younger than Holly herself, she didn't take it at all to heart. "Point being, I haven't seen you a lot lately."

Holly sighed, resting her head against her hand and taking another sip of wine. "I know, I've...I've been busy."

"Writing?"

It was a fair assumption; though it hadn't happened in awhile, Holly had several works of fiction waiting on her laptop that she plunked away at every now and again. The big story, however, had not been touched in some time; a novel, spanning across two years and still not near completion. Ostensibly, Holly had gone to school to become a writer, but aside from a couple of poems and a short story, she hadn't published much. Real life, and writer's block, definitely took up a major portion of her time. Still, there was a chance she may have been bitten by the writing bug.

"No. Well, yes and no. I've chiseled away at the manuscript a little. I think I've figured out how to get my character out of the prison," she confessed excitedly. Her character was a young girl with special capabilities, attempting to find their mother after she was abducted by a special agency. She'd been locked up the last time Holly had worked with her; knowing where to go with a story, but not how to get there, was a cruel feeling. She was glad to be able to banish it.

Sarah snorted, rather indelicately, as she drank. "Only took you six months."

Holly rolled her eyes and chuckled, "Shut up."

Next came the inevitable questions: how was her brother doing? Keeping to the garage with the cars, as usual? Was her sister still enjoying married life and her new infant son? Were her parents okay?

"Everyone's fine, really. Not much has changed back home. Still weird to think of Hank and Heather as adults, with businesses and babies, but Mom and Dad are handling better than me," Holly said, laughing a little to herself. Asking after Sarah's girls, she discovered that they were well on their way to working out going to competition at the end of the month. The pride in her voice was evident, and she was so happy to have the girls get as far as they had.

They both topped off their glasses, savoring a bit more wine. Sarah, toying with the stem of the glass, looked at her friend with hooded eyes. "So...still hanging out with that Steve guy?"

Holly half smiled at that. Given how much she had spent time with him over the last two months, it didn't make sense to hide what she was doing from Sarah. She told her his first name, and that he was a little old-fashioned, but still a sweet person. However, she kept his identity as Captain America a secret; it felt too much like gossiping, or even a little like betrayal, to even consider doing so. If she were him, she wouldn't want her friends always gushing about how she was this famous hero and inviting everyone in the nearby radius to give their exact opinions on what she had done. So he was just Steve, the guy without a Facebook account (Sarah had tried to find him there, only to be met Holly's explanation of, "He's never had one and he doesn't want one," as an excuse).

"Yeah. Ever since he was, you know, let go, his has been an easy schedule to plan around."

That certainly was true; with SHIELD no longer existing, he technically did not have a job any longer. It definitely gave him more time in the real world.

"Not trying to replace me, are you?" Sarah joked in a false suspicious tone.

Tapping a finger against her chin, Holly pretended to give the notion thought before snickering, "Naw, I've put too much work into this friendship already to give it up now."

"Good to hear."

"Yeah."

"You should bring him by sometime, maybe the next time I have people over," Sarah suggested, thinking this was a grand idea. She wanted to meet the guy her best friend couldn't help but mention every time she spoke to her. She wanted to put a face to the name, to essentially examine this new person who'd gotten under her friend's skin. "The more, the merrier, and all that."

Holly hesitated before shaking her head. "I don't know if he could. He's working on a new project, and it could keep him busy for awhile. I haven't heard from him in a few days."

"Hopefully not for too long."

"I don't know," Holly answered honestly, furrowing her brow. Though she had no details, she knew Steve would be well engaged with his "other plans." The importance he'd laid upon them was very apparent to her back when he first mentioned the pursuit, and given that he'd established "radio silence" with her at the moment, she knew he was jumping head first into them. The duration of the endeavor was not hers to speculate on.

"What's wrong, hun?" Sarah inquired, noting her friend's troubled expression. She laid a hand on her shoulder, patting her gently. Holly just shot her another glance, one loaded with words she couldn't articulate, with thoughts she couldn't express.

"I just...I hope that everything goes well for him, that's all," she commented quietly, a finger sliding around the rim of her glass. "He hasn't had the best of luck lately."

_'And that's putting it mildly,'_ her brain supplied as her mouth was occupied with another sip.

Silence engulfed Sarah momentarily, as she could not comment on someone she hadn't even properly met before, or his luck. Instead, she just looked over her friend, watching her gnaw her lip and stare into the middle distance. She could see the worry in Holly's eyes, and knew that she would be turning over the idea over and over in her mind for some time. That did not stop her from speaking her mind on her behavior, at least.

"Don't borrow trouble, Holl. Especially if it's not yours to begin with," she murmured, patting her shoulder once more. Her companion scoffed under her breath, having heard the admonition several times in the past. She held her tongue, keeping her comments locked away.

_'Tell me not to breathe while you're at it,' _sat at the forefront of her mind, but she said nothing.

The worst part of the entire situation, for her at least, was the fact that she knew nothing about what was going on. Oh sure, she had a vague understanding, but she had no honest idea. And the unknown made her a little afraid. She was afraid for all of them; whatever Steve, and most likely Sam as well, was dealing with, it wasn't anything pleasant. He hinted at that himself. And it had the potential to have dire consequences. Or she thought it might; without anything to back up her theory, either good or bad, she was left to imagine worst possible scenarios.

She had joked with Steve, telling him to warn her in case the "other things" would affect her and possibly cause her harm. Now, she wondered if that would actually happen.

It was a scary thought. One that, for once, she could not readily confide to her friend. Sarah didn't need to be brought into her quagmire of fear and frustration. Dwelling on it would not do, either. Downing the rest of her wine in one big gulp, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gestured towards the television.

"Alright, no more borrowing trouble. Let's watch a movie or something," she said, with Sarah agreeing easily. It had already been a long day, with difficult customers and a cranky distributor yanking her and Carl's chains up until the afternoon. It was ideal, coming to Sarah's and watching some terrible guilty pleasure films to take her mind off things. However brief that interlude might be.

**xXxXxXx**

Steve tapped at his computer, his chin in his hand that was propped beside it. He was in the process of converting all the paperwork and notes in the file to a word document, to be saved and pulled up at his convenience later if he needed to do so. He wasn't all too familiar with the feeling of his brain frying on the inside, but after the last couple of hours, he imagined he was beginning to smell smoke as he kept typing, and thinking.

The last couple of days had been spent cracking away at the file, the first step in Steve's plan to locate Bucky...hopefully without much conflict. That was wishful thinking, of course, but although he planned for the worst, he could hope for the best. Between him and Sam, they were determined to split the file in half and work on their separate parts in an effort to speed along the process. So they'd worked, on and off, over several days, trying to make some headway.

He glanced down at the sheet, sitting beside the laptop on the desk. Contemplating it, he pondered the rest of the contents. What he'd read, what he surmised thus far...it was worse than he'd imagined. The first day, when he and Sam had arrived home from the cemetery, he could only get through a few pages before he had to turn away in disgust, leaving it for the next day. Bucky's fortitude, which he knew firsthand to be great, had to have been sorely tried when he was taken by HYDRA.

Torture. Experimentation. That was what he'd gleaned so far, having to walk through the notes in his imperfect understanding of German, and even having to use an online translator for some of them. Some were in English, but far too much of it remained obscure. He reckoned those he could read were not meant to be secret, unlike the others. The Russian notes were something he might try to run by Natasha sometime; his fluency ended at German and French.

A list poked out beneath it, a list of names. His assassinations list, Steve concluded, when he noticed the fresh addition of "Nick Fury" and "Captain America" at the bottom. It was a long one, with names from over the last fifty years, all (except for the last two) truly dead and suspected to be his handiwork. It twisted his stomach, and his heart, to think about how his friend was commanded to carry out those duties, without knowing exactly who he was going after.

"Oh, Buck," he whispered to himself, scanning the page once more and wincing. It was a surgery report, describing the procedure of taking off the remaining, hanging bones and muscle of his arm before his metal arm was attached. "Damn."

Yes, Steve was a soldier. Yes, he'd seen atrocities and death, things an average citizen could never want to see. He'd escorted escaped prisoners of some concentration camps to safety, to freedom, and witnessed the cruelty of man. It didn't make reading what had happened to his best friend any easier to swallow. His past experiences couldn't change the fact that he felt terrible for what had occurred.

Not for the first time, he hated himself for being on ice for seventy years. If he hadn't gone down with the plane, he could have found Bucky, reversed the damage done to him...

_None of that was your fault, Steve, _Natasha's words floated back to him. He sighed; they didn't make him feel any better, no matter if they had the ring of truth. Maybe it wasn't his fault, but it still should not have happened.

His phone lit up then, catching his eye. A new text message came in, penetrating the cocoon of study and preparation he'd built around himself. Despite his want to get as much put into the document as he could that night, he broke off long enough to pick up the device and read the message.

**Hey, haven't heard from you in awhile. Just checking to make sure you're still alive. :)**

In his morbid mood, he shouldn't have found the words even remotely funny. A corner of his mouth lifted slightly, even so. Of course, he mused silently, of course Holly would say something like that. Leaning back in his chair, he drew in a long, deep breath, calming his agitation somewhat.

It should not have happened to Bucky. It should not have happened to anyone. But, God willing, he could stop something like that from happening again.

He would stop any evil force, as best he could, from claiming another of his friends, from taking advantage of someone he cared about.

**Hey. Still alive, Holly, still alive.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** This chapter could be alternately titled as, "Yes, Holly DOES Have Friends Beside Steve." Or "A Semi-Girly Interlude." Or, "Holly Knows A Lot of People With S-Names." Hahaha...good thing I'm not titling the chapters in that case.

In my mind, Natasha did pull some strings and got that file for him, but I highly doubt it would all be in English, so the first few days have to be dedicated to translating the damn thing before he could begin to even actually comprehend the text.

Soon enough, though, the boys will be shipping out in pursuit of Bucky, and where will that leave Holly? Oh, you'll find out soon enough. I jotted out this chapter fairly quickly, as I'm not sure exactly how this weekend is going to shape out, so here ya go: a chapter a little earlier than normal.

Anyway, thanks for reading, PLEASE REVIEW (I don't mean to beg, but it would be a nice gesture on your part), and I'll see you next time!


	10. Chapter 10

A tap at the office door drew Holly's attention away from the computer screen.

"Yeah, come in," she called, waiting as the door creaked open. Turning to face the caller, she took stock of the person before her. Anna, a girl of middling height and red hair (and a pierced nose, despite Carl's warnings of taking it out while on shift), stood in the frame. She was supposed to be working the register while Holly was typing up the last couple of weeks' reports. Holly had to surmise that something had happened with a customer, since normally she was well-equipped to handle it on her own. "Something wrong, Anna?"

"Nothing's wrong, but, um..." the girl trailed off, her faced tinged crimson. "There's a guy out front who wants to talk to you. Says he knows you."

Holly's eyebrows shot up. Visitors at work, while not entirely rare, did not happen very often. And usually, it was just Sarah popping in to pick her up for an after work drink. Not many guys turned up.

"A guy?" She had an strong idea who it was, but she wanted to be sure.

"Yes," Anna murmured, her gaze turning warm, "he's, he's..."

"Tall? Blue eyes? Built like a brick wall?" she supplied, noting with amusement how quickly Anna had nodded an affirmative.

"Really hot," mumbled the other girl under her breath, causing something to simultaneously twinge Holly's nerves and made her chuckle quietly. Glancing at the clock, Holly figured she could spare the fellow some of her time. It was her good fortune that had Carl out of the building for the afternoon, so he wouldn't be worrying over them in the office.

"Well, I've got a few things to wrap up here. Send him back."

Facing the computer again, she resumed typing as the younger girl dodged back to the front. Holly was clacking away at the last few lines of her report, listening with half an ear as Anna began chatting up the visitor.

"...A student at Washington and Lee. I'm off for the summer, working here part-time."

"Oh, that's good," a well-known voice responded, and Holly's tiny smile grew just a little wider. A second hard knock sounded off her door, and she just glanced over her shoulder this time. Her suppositions were correct: it was Steve Rogers, sans shield and regalia, but Steve nonetheless. The false horn-rim glasses were perched on his face again, this time a hood drawn up over his head as opposed to a ball cap. He shot her an almost apologetic smile, as if he were sorry to be interrupting her work.

"Here he is," Anna announced unnecessarily, standing against the door so that he would have to squeeze past her to get inside the office. Off that blatant and brazen move, Holly shot her a sharp glance and a frown. Steve, looking askance at Anna for a second, attempted to maneuver around her swiftly and with minimal contact.

"Thank you," he said, maintaining a polite demeanor as he sat down in the single visitor's chair.

"Yes, thanks, Anna," Holly concurred, softening her expression somewhat. No need to appear petty or harsh. "Please shut the door."

Anna, looking for all the world like she wished she could trade places with the upper management just for this moment, nodded to them both. She reserved the warm smile solely for Steve, though, as she did as she was told. When the door eventually clicked into place, Holly minimized her document before spinning her desk chair to face him fully.

Steve pushed the hood of his sweatshirt back, which she thought was a bold move for the end of May. How he wasn't sweating to death, she didn't know. As he removed the glasses and pocketed them, she could see the exhaustion on his face. His project had clearly kept him busy, and was wearing him out. Maybe not overly much (he could probably still run circles around her, even at his most sleep-deprived), but the faint smudges under his eyes were a testament to his overlong dedication.

"Hey there, stranger," she teased him, as she had not seen him in person for a couple weeks. "Don't you look all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today."

The sardonic smirk he shot her did not go unnoticed. "Aren't you sweet."

"Sometimes," she returned, reaching out and tapping him on the shoulder playfully. "It's good to see you."

His smirk became a little more genuine, as he responded in kind. She shrugged it off, though secretly she was very pleased to have him there. "And how's your erstwhile roommate?"

The discussion of Sam (yes, he was doing alright, and yes, he was still seeing the girl from the front desk—he was actually out with her at the moment) eventually deviated to the events of the week prior. Much of her time was split between work and a little research for her book, and fielding phone calls from her family. He mother and father were beginning to implore her to move home, not for the first time, and she uttered frustration at that. Her companion, allowing her to work off the steam, interjected very little. Steve let her talk and type, as she needed to wrap up her report swiftly, and she could work and talk at the same time. Although he did express interest in her novel idea; it was the first he'd heard anything concrete about the subject. She, like other people he knew, could be vague about subjects close to her, when she wanted to be. (When he inquired after the character's special abilities, she gave him a wry grin and chuckled, saying that the girl was no super soldier, that was for sure.)

And when she expressed her parents' concerns about her welfare and their begging for her to relocate, she had her back turned to him, and therefore did not see the fleeting frown that flitted across his features. It disappeared, though, the moment she lifted her hands from the keyboard, clicking the save and print buttons and whirling around to face him again.

"Something," she started, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, "tells me that you're in my neck of the woods for something other than chitchat."

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the right. "So quick to assume..."

Her own eyebrows raised minutely. "Am I wrong?"

"...Not entirely."

Holly held back on her triumphant smirk, instead turning to catch the papers coming out of the printer to her left. "That's what I thought. So what's up?"

He sighed,"Well, I needed a break from the office myself."

Just as she thought; he'd been buried under his personal project for quite awhile. She snorted, crossing her arms. "You're no desk jockey."

"Only when necessary," he commented, a tad bitterly. That drew her gaze back to him, the levity slipping away. Steve cast a long glance at her, inhaling deeply before starting again. "I do have a reason to see you, aside from conversation."

Holly did not reply, but sat perched on the edge of her seat and waited.

"Sam and I will be leaving intermittently over the next few months," he murmured, raking a hand through his hair. She blinked, the surprise on her face evident. "At least, that's the plan."

"...Oh." She wasn't sure how to respond to that, at least not verbally. The tiny twist in her chest and the confusion in her brain, however, were her private indication of how she felt about it. Not that she'd give them voice, no. Rather, she fixed her eyes into a curious squint and asked, "How soon will you be leaving?"

"In a couple days. The...project I've been working on, we've been able to decipher enough of it to get started," Steve said. "First trip is up to Brooklyn, but after...we'll be going much farther."

A breath of a laugh escaped her lips. "So that's where the pension will definitely come in handy. Pays for the transportation."

Steve nodded, shrugging his shoulders in brief good humor. To have the government continue his pay from his service to SHIELD, and from his past as a national icon, was a good thing. Yet another thing to thank Nick Fury for, he mused privately. "Helps that they owe me a few favors, too."

"And here my summer plans consisted of binge-watching movies and getting a tan," she quipped, her tone partly serious.

"Hardly something you need in the first place," he commented. Privately, he thought she looked good enough to go without.

"Because winter pallor is so pretty." Turning the joke aside, she ruminated for a moment. "And, where do I enter this equation exactly?"

Pausing again, he reconsidered his response. He did not want to go through with it, but he was already there. "We wanted to know if you'd be interested in periodically house-sitting."

Her eyebrows quirked so quickly together it was almost comical. That was it? That's what was so important that he had to come across the city to discuss with her? To get the mail, and water the plants, and anything else that needed to be taken care of while they were away?

Part of her felt a little offended, but she chided herself soon enough for hoping for...something more. But come on, what else could he have asked her to do? Uproot herself to come along for the ride? To play at being a sidekick to two very capable people? That smacked of poorly-written fiction, and she knew herself well enough to know that whatever Steve and Sam would be investigating, she would be of no benefit tagging along. A few self-defense courses and experiences in youth softball (and therefore with baseball bats) did not make one threatening, overall.

"Okay..." she said, drawing out the word.

'_Why?'_ her brain whispered.

As if Steve could hear her thoughts, he told her, "We trust you to take care of things."

Thinking hard, Holly had to agree it made sense for them to ask. She was the best one situated to do so, being in permanent residence and a short driving distance away. After all, she knew both men, knew that they wouldn't want their privacy molested. And, she reasoned, they both really didn't have anyone else to ask for help; God knew where Natasha was, even if she was open to the suggestion of watching the place, and it wasn't likely they would be okay with some random service poking around. The fact that they (more specifically, Steve) expressed trust in her capacities was not something to sneeze at, either.

"That's all, then?" she prompted him, going off the thoughtful glance he shot her, "Or not?"

_'There has to be a reason why he didn't just call me, there has to be.'_

Slowly, carefully, Steve sat up and reached into his pocket. A folded piece of paper was in his hand, and after pondering it for a second, he handed it to her. A little perturbed, she turned the sheet over in her hand, opening it to reveal a copy of a photograph. It was of a grainy quality, in black and white, but the fellow qualities were barely muted by the medium. He had (she assumed) light-colored eyes, his dark hair hidden beneath a cap. The uniform he was wearing was cut off by the picture's border, but that hardly registered.

What she fixated on was his face. His very familiar face. She'd seen it before, in the museum. _In memorium..._

"Your friend," Holly breathed, trying to recall the name "James Something, right?"

"James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky," Steve confirmed. "You've seen him before."

It wasn't really a question, but she felt like she had to answer it. "Well, yeah, I mean, I did a little research-"

"No, I meant in person."

A denial sat on the tip of her tongue; he was supposed to be long dead, after all. But as she looked longer at the picture, she felt a spark, the thoughts connecting. A flash passed, her memory bringing forth a young man by the river, his arm encased in metal, and his matted long hair framing this same face. Those same eyes.

She gasped; she _did_ know him.

He was the man, the man who pointed out Steve to her, the one who vanished out of her path as swiftly as he'd entered it. If she had had the will, she would've shot out of her chair, to pace and think. But...but...how?

"Holly...I'm looking for him. He's...he's had awful things done to him, things I could've..." Steve stopped himself, biting back the strong guilt. Holly just sat there, stunned. "He survived his fall, like me. But what was done to him made him dangerous. I want to find him and, I don't know, get him back to what he used to be."

Shaking her head once, as if to pull herself out of a trance, she wondered, "Why tell me this?"

"Because," Steve let out in a rush, "in the unlikely event he turns up on the doorstep, you deserve to know exactly who you're facing."

In the silence, Holly began to wrestle with her inner turmoil. This, this right here, was one of the issues of being close to a superhero: the likelihood of potential danger to anyone associated with them, no matter how insignificant they thought themselves. Granted, she had no idea the depth of Bucky's transformation, but the intimidation and fear he instilled in her just by crossing her path made her wary of coming in contact with him again. And she didn't like the odds, unspecified though they were; if he did show up on the doorstep, what was to stop him from harming her, just because she was helping Steve?

Well,_ shit._

_'You put your trust in him to be honest with you about any danger, and he has been,' _she grasped with sudden clarity. _'He's kept his promise, no matter if you were kidding at the time.'_

It wouldn't do to lie; she wasn't the bravest, nor the smartest person in the world. She wasn't a tactician or a trained agent. But she knew exactly what she was, and what she could offer: her time, her word. Because she was a friend of a superhero. Because she did care about the man behind the shield, and she knew he would do what he could to keep her safe, even at a distance, because of that. Forewarned was forearmed, and she did have options to protect herself. And after the events two months ago, she'd kept 911 on speed dial.

Making up her mind, she cleared her throat. "I can do it. You said 'unlikely,' right?"

That startled a chuckle out of him, even as his face remained serious. "Yes, I did say that."

"Then...yeah, okay, I can house-sit for you guys when you need it."

Inclining his head, his lips curled into a grateful grin. "I appreciate it. I'll let you know before we leave."

On impulse, she scooted forward in the chair, pulling up closer to Steve. Throwing her arms around his neck, she held on tightly as he returned the hug, albeit a tad awkwardly. The fear she'd been pressing back seemed to surge into her arms, making her grip stronger. If he got himself deep in trouble, she couldn't imagine what she would do or think. Holly didn't want to even consider it.

"Be careful out there, Steve," she whispered. He gave her no verbal reassurance, knowing as well as she that he had no control over the outcome of events. Still, one of his hands reached up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers gently settling there to calm her. He would do what he could.

'_Well then,' _Holly mused wryly to herself, '_Guess I'll be picking up a new baseball bat after work. A strong, metal one.'_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** ...Did I overdo the drama on this one? Perhaps, but hey, it is what it is.

No, Holly is decidedly _not_ going to tag along on the trip(s) that Steve and Sam will be taking. But (and I'm sure it's fairly obvious) this is not the end of Holly and Steve's relationship. And now there is the chance for Steve to begin his search and reach a better understanding of the world that he now inhabits.

Washington and Lee (not its full title) is an actual college out in Virginia, about three hours out of DC. Just putting it out there.

Anyway, a shorter chapter this time, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. I'll see you guys next time; thanks for reading, and PLEASE REVIEW. Please? Reviews make the world go 'round...


	11. Chapter 11

A crowd had formed in front of the building to his left, eagerly waiting to pay their fare to get in to the site. They were congregated in front of the set of stairs, sturdy metal replacing the wooden stairs and landing he'd once known. It wasn't every day, after all, that they had a chance to get into Captain America's old home in Brooklyn. The marker out front, shining in the sunlight, listed some factoids, such as his birth, how the neighborhood had been in his day, and how he'd come to spend his hours playing in the streets with his childhood friend. However, he was not captivated as the crowd was, and he certainly was not in the line to get inside the old apartment building.

It would be a cold day in hell before Steve Rogers paid money to get into his old home, for any reason. Instead, he stood a little off to the side, resting against the brick wall of the next-door apartment complex. Hair tucked under a ball cap, and a set of aviator shades covering his eyes, he also sported a jacket despite the early June weather. It was easier to hide his shield harness underneath with it. His shield, resting on the ground beside him, the inner half facing out so that it resembled something like a trash can lid. Half in the shadows, nobody really looked at him twice while he pretended to be fiddling with his phone, like so many other young men nowadays. In reality, he was observing both the crowd and the inaction across the street, waiting for an opportunity.

As he and Sam had discussed, they had agreed Brooklyn would be the starting point in their pursuit of Bucky. And to that end, they'd gotten themselves a flight under the guise of personal recreation (after landing, he sent a text to Holly, letting her know they landed safely and to give the house a once-over while they were out. She would get back to him eventually well after the day's discoveries. Thus far, all was quiet; she and her bat had made the rounds as asked. He'd snorted at that and commended her bat's abilities). On the off-chance that Bucky's building had been purchased and renovated, he would have to secure permission from the current tenants to enter, or at least ask them about anyone unusual coming or going. As such, it was still deserted, the current property owner having jettisoned off to Florida as far as anyone knew.

The old tenement sagged, a boarded eyesore in the midst of the otherwise maintained neighborhood. Spray-paint tags littered the brick, some posted bills were ripped and tattered on the locked doors. It didn't surprise him that the old building was condemned; there never was an outcry to "save the James Buchanan Barnes house." It still made him feel sad, though. A lot of good times had happened there...some were awful, but this still was an integral part of his childhood. Bucky's home was his, too, in a way. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes as the memories washed over him.

"_Come on, Stevie! Stop flinching when I throw the ball!" a boy hollered, swiping the dark hair out of his eyes and laughing as he did so._

_Another boy, blonde and skinny, squared his shoulders and shot back, "The last time it almost hit me in the face, Bucky!"_

_It was near dark, though the streetlights were not on yet. They were playing catch, tossing the ball back and forth, the mitts on their hands worn hand-me-downs from Bucky's older brothers. Occasionally a car needed to get by, and they'd abandon the street to let it pass. Soon enough, they would be back in the road, too far from the park and too little daylight left for them to make the trek to play there. Besides which, both of their mothers would have their heads if they wandered too far. _

"_Keep your mitt up and it won't get near your face. It ain't a bean bag, buddy," Bucky countered, pointedly tossing the ball gently into his friend's waiting glove. "Just showing you how it's done!"_

"_I'll show you how it's done," Stevie muttered grumpily, though it was belied by the amused expression. Rolling it his hand for a moment, he drew back his arm and, with all his eight-year-old strength, winged the ball back at him. It arched high, traveling farther than any of the others he'd made before. As Bucky ran hard to catch it, Stevie felt himself smile broadly._

"_My best throw," he murmured, just as Bucky caught it and whooped. And it was; he'd never thrown it that far before. Granted, it wasn't like he'd become Lou Gehrig or something in that moment, but he was proud. And Bucky was right there with him. His friend, beaming so bright one would've thought he'd made the throw._

"_Yes! That's what I'm talking about, Stevie!"_

"We going in?" Sam's voice cut through the memory, banishing it back to the corners of Steve's mind. He was dressed down as well, a t-shirt and jeans combination with an old backpack hanging from his shoulders. The other man had been waiting slightly behind him, watching for any activity in the road or from the tenants next door. So far nothing. Opening his eyes, he cut his gaze to his companion.

"Hold on," he replied, discreetly pulling up the digital face and watch it switch to two o'clock. Right on the dot, the front door opened, allowing the gathered group of families, couples, and the occasional teenager skipping school to slip into the Captain America house. As they filed in one by one, it was only a short time later that the tour guide firmly shut the door. The passersby, the few that were out, were more absorbed in their own pursuits, barely tossing a glance at either man. Pocketing his phone, he grabbed his shield and stepped out of the shadows.

"Okay, let's go."

Gesturing, he let Sam precede him across the street. Blinking, he exhaled and followed, shaking his head as he glimpsed the surrounding buildings and cars again. Nobody remarked on them going by.

Yes, the neighborhood had changed, even further from where it was two years ago. It was one of the first places he visited after waking up; he had to see what had happened to his home. It was something of a shock for his apartment to have become a national landmark, and he was overwhelmed by the people who had recognized him that day, taking him room by room as though he'd never been there before.

Maybe they saw it as a great publicity stunt, or even a kindness to him, but Steve was not pleased with that attention and so had not returned since. Not even after the attack on the city; if it had collapsed in a pile of rubble after the Chitauri stormed through, then it was rubble, and there wasn't much he would be able to do about it. It had survived, becoming a sort of shrine to the returned hero in the days that followed, and he definitely steered clear of it afterward. It was unnerving, having all his personal items on display and treated like relics of a bygone era. The fact that they were, in a way, was even more unsettling. For unlike the spectators, the bygone era for him had only felt like it was yesterday. So he tamped down the memories and stayed away.

Things were different today. The objective to return to the old neighborhood was different.

It was the stepping stone, two years ago, to bridging the gap between the years and understanding how the world had viewed him after his actions, and how it had changed in his absence.

For Bucky, it could be seen as the first step in the path to piecing together the truth. Granted, it was only strong suspicion (and intuition, if he were being honest) that brought him and Sam to the neighborhood, but it stood to reason to at least investigate. If he were to have been there, he might successfully gauge the path of his past friend, catch him before he got too many steps ahead.

Or at least, before the inevitable fall-out happened. Having no personal experience, he could imagine the psychological damage that would occur when his old pal discovered the truth about his brainwashing and how many innocent people died by his unknowing hand. He shouldn't have to go through that alone.

As they could not be seen entering a condemned building in broad daylight, Steve and Sam had to find an alternative route into Bucky's old home. Night investigation had been discussed, but was ultimately rejected for the fact that two men lurking around a building at night would draw more attention to what they were doing. Skirting around the corner, they darted down the alley to get to the back of the tenement.

"He lived on the second floor, right?" Sam asked, looking at the smashed glass dubiously.

"Towards the front," Steve confirmed, scanning for an decent entrance point. There were a few planked windows on the ground level, a couple panes broken out by vandals in the past. It would be a gamble treading up to the apartment on the main entrance's rickety staircase, but the odds were against them scaling the building elsewhere. It had to be quick, otherwise the neighbors would suspect something. One of the windows down the row had three boards across it, but it looked like the glass beneath it had been completely obliterated. He nodded to it. "That one."

Without needing to be told, Sam led the way, helping Steve pry off each board and laying them gently on the ground. The last hanging shards crashed at their feet as they did so, glass specks bouncing harmlessly off their boots. Taking the backpack off, Sam dug into it and removed two face masks, reminiscent of gas masks. When Steve had illustrated the plan to him some days ago, he'd spoken with an old buddy who worked on restoring aged buildings who could help him procure the proper equipment. Scoring the masks was necessary, especially for a building of pre-1970's construction ("It's definitely an asbestos trap. No thanks," Sam had groused). Once they were secured over their noses and mouths, the two men went in. Climbing through first, the younger man began to fish his phone out of his pocket.

"Little dark in here," he supplied needlessly, as Steve had been right on his heels and was submerged in the hazy afternoon darkness as well. His voice was muffled a little by the mask, and his breathing was much more obvious. Pulling it out, the screen bathed his face in an unnatural glow as he tapped through the apps. The front-facing light disappeared soon enough, replaced by a solitary beam. "Better."

Slinging his shield onto his back, removing his jacket to have better access to the harness, Steve began to move in the light's path. "Careful, the floor looks rotten."

Slowly, they moved through the abandoned space, which had once been a kitchen (going off the dirty fridge and the busted stove pushed in a corner). Eventually, they found the hall door, going single file down towards the front lobby and the landing. It all looked untouched, save for whatever had fallen from the floors above over the last several years. There were no shoe prints in the dust, none that weren't buried in the decay for some time. The old staircase looming before them was warped with age, the steps either rotted or missing. It could collapse any second; it was a miracle it was still standing to begin with.

Sam coughed. "So who's going first?"

Steve looked at him, the light in the hall a little better. The lower half of his partner's face was obscured, but he could tell that he was pulling a frown behind it. Turning back to look at the staircase, he shrugged.

"Well, I could pull rank and seniority..."

"You know what they say: age before beauty," Sam riposted, his eyes creasing at the corners in amusement. Steve, despite the seriousness of the situation, felt his shoulders shake as he suppressed self-deprecating laughter.

"You weigh less. It's less likely to break under you," the captain shot back. That was true, as the elder soldier outweighed his compatriot by forty pounds, give or take a few. "Better to have at least one of us up there without too much difficulty."

Sam sighed inaudibly; what was said was true. Arguing would do them no good. Hesitantly, he placed his right foot on the first step. Over his shoulder, he muttered, "Well, if I don't make it, tell my mom I loved her."

Steve rolled his eyes, and watched warily as Sam edged ever-so-slowly up the second and third steps. "Plant your feet on the outer edges. They might be a little more stable than the center."

"Gotcha, Cap." He moved like a turtle covered in molasses, but he did follow the advice given. A hand was firmly planted on the flaking inner wall, steadying him as he climbed. With every creak and groan causing a fresh wave of alarm to speed through his veins, he at length reached the upstairs landing. Both he and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

If Sam moved like a molasses-covered turtle, then Steve was more akin to a sloth in January as he made his way up. Bracing himself, the stairs creaked even louder under his weight. In fact, he felt a few boards splinter, causing him to push his shoulder into the wall to take some of the pressure off. With hindsight, it might have been better to find an alternate route upstairs, but he'd already committed to this course, and he was going to see it through.

Four stairs away from the landing, his entire leg went through the step. Flailing, he grabbed onto the deteriorating banister as Sam clattered down to catch him. Grabbing him under the arms, the younger man helped pull his leg out of the hole, the staircase swaying. Unspoken agreement led the two men to charge up the last steps haphazardly, feet becoming lighter than air as the boards snapped and cracked. They both hit the deck on the landing as the top half of the stairwell broke away from its supports, the wood clattering down to the floor. Dust shot up in the air, stinging their eyes, but both men were otherwise unharmed.

"Not getting out that way," Steve muttered, unconsciously borrowing the words from something. Sam shook his head in agreement. After a moment or two spent listening to see if any of the neighbors or pedestrians had heard the noise and called the police, they took the silence as reassurance to continue. Leading the way, the captain kept getting more flashes of memory. One was of taking Bucky's skates for a test run down the hall, and incidentally tumbling down the same stairs. Another was him having an asthma attack, Bucky staying by his side and keeping him calm while he rode it out. Many, however, coalesced into a single remembrance: walking through the door, Bucky at his side, the entire Barnes family greeting him as he came in. The sense of family and love flooded into him as he turned the knob gently, easing the door back and revealing just what had happened to his second home.

Shock had hit him hard; it was a disaster. It was one thing to expect decay and mess, but another to physically see it in front of you. Everything that had made it familiar, made it a home, was gone. All the furniture, the belongings...the people, they had disappeared. Numbly, he moved to one side, side-stepping out of habit to avoid an ottoman that was no longer there.

"There was a couch there," he said, as Sam walked into the space. "Used to bunk down, make a fort out of it sometimes. The radio was over there."

Bucky's brothers had always elbowed them away from the knobs, in the nature of all older brothers. However, they got their own back when Mrs. Barnes would swat the backs of their head, telling them to be nicer to the boys lest they incur her wrath. A lump formed in Steve's throat; Mrs. Barnes had always been a warm, caring woman. It was too bad she was gone. Her, her boys, her little girl...Swallowing past it, Steve cast his eye around the living room. Swirling motes were caught in the light coming through the grimy windows. At least those weren't boarded up, and Sam was able to save his phone's battery without using the light.

"Are we looking for anything specific?" Sam wondered, putting the aforementioned phone away. Steve nodded, clearing his throat and pointing at the backpack.

"We need to see if we've been the only ones here. Check the front pocket, you'll find something that will help."

Delving into the bag again, Sam withdrew a pair of sunglasses, with red lenses and a remote touch pad accompanying it. Staring at the objects for a few seconds, he put the shades on. Instantly they reacted, turning on and providing a structural scan of the room. "Woah."

"When I started with SHIELD, they gave me a pair. Every agent had one for processing data overseas. I sent it off to Stark, thought he might be interested in it, or at least he'd get the bugs out. He sent them back, with a lot of extra tweaks. Said they should work better."

Sam grinned, cautiously tapping along the touch pad. The computer links showed up on the glasses, and he gasped, "This is hooked up to the international criminal database."

Steve smirked. "Among other things. I think Stark was hoping I would wear them on assignment, so he could see what SHIELD was up to. Any recorded data is backed up on its own hard drive, I think he said. Too bad for him I hated the damn things. Gave me headaches."

"This is some _Heavy Rain_ stuff, man," his companion remarked. Off the captain's confused look, he waved a free hand dismissively. "Video game reference, sorry. More like an interactive movie, depending on how you look at it. Holly hasn't told you about that one?"

"She watches actual movies. So surprisingly enough, no."

"If she goes through my collection at home, she'll find it," he remarked. "Anyway, to explain: one of the characters in the game worked for the FBI. He had glasses and a glove that worked to read prints and process crime scenes."

"Probably where SHIELD got the inspiration to make them." Steve raised an eyebrow to himself. "They've borrowed ideas before."

"And I assume you want me to use them like they did."

"...Yes. I want you to see if you can spot anything out of the ordinary."

"And what will you be doing?"

Steve grimaced. "I'm going to see if anything's missing. Call out what you find."

"But how would you know..." Sam trailed off as his friend walked away, moving determinedly towards the back rooms. Letting it go, he focused on his brand-new equipment. "Okay, let's see..."

The words bounced around Steve's head as Sam made his observations, the well of hope rising with each. Forced entry, back window in the kitchen. Had to have scaled the building, puncture points where a grappling hook latched onto the brick. Disturbed dust and scrapes across the floor indicated that it had been pushed out of the way recently. Drop of blood on the sill, must have pierced a hand on the glass. It looks relatively new, probably a few weeks old...any prints left behind were not a match in the database. Not a shock, since he was thought to be a ghost story for so long. Scanned for future analysis and tracking. Hey, it was possible to check email at the same time as reconstructing the scene, did he know that? He said nothing to all this, choosing instead to tread lightly down to the back bedroom.

Once Bucky had shared it with his brother Bram, the two brothers desperate to keep their separate spaces. There was always some inadvertent mix-up of toys or books, or trading cards, and both of them would be at each others' necks. One day, he resolved to keep his best hidden away from Bram, in an old tin.

"_Bring your best stuff too, Steve. Like our Gehrig and Ruth cards, and anything else. We'll keep them safe." The twelve-year-old was tickled pink by the idea, and wanted his friend to share in it, too._

"_Like a time capsule?" Steve had read about some professors at universities doing something like that, preserving things from their time to be found and looked at a hundred years from then. It seemed so grown-up to do that sort of thing. _

_Bucky's eyes lit up. "Exactly! We'll put it here in the floor, come back for it when we're old, fat, married guys and Bram can't get his hands on it."_

_Steve laughed, "I don't think I'll ever be fat; nothing I eat ever sticks to me, Mom says. You might be, though."_

_Buck shoved him playfully on the shoulder. "Shut up! You watch, you'll be the fattest guy ever! You'll see. Anyway, you in?"_

_Steve thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it"._

"Tracks lead from the window to the living room. They stop...where you did, before heading down the hall."

Steve knelt on the floor in the old bedroom, the possessions gone and the floor warped and bitten up, dirt encrusted in the boards.

"_I'm adding to the box before I go. My papers. So I can show them to my grandkids. Or at least for you to show to yours, in case I..."_

"_Don't talk like that, Buck. You'll show them yourself."_

All except for one board, cleaner than the rest. He lifted it easily, the nails already pried away. And below...

The tin was gone. The trading cards, the old photos, Bucky's papers, everything they'd pooled together taken away. He reached in, combing his fingers over lower board and the muck gathered there. Brushing against a thick wad of what he could only assume was a rat's nest, a yellow edge appeared.

"They came through here, stopped where you are and then..." Sam paused, staring into the hole that Steve was transfixed on, before continuing, "they went out that window behind you. The boot prints are approximately about his size, but for all we know it could have just been some punk kid way too into Parkour."

"It was him."

Sam lifted the glasses off his face, concerned. "And you know this how?"

Steve withdrew his hand from the hole, a weathered piece of paper in it. Upon closer inspection, it had a design of a three of clubs, and Lou Gehrig's picture. A baseball card. One that should never have left the tin, and hadn't since the day Steve and Bucky put it there.

"Because of this."

_And he knows he's being followed. Or expects to be followed. But whether it's a taunt or encouragement, I can't tell, _he mused, rising slowly to look out the shattered window, the sun sliding lower in the sky. _I'm sure we'll find out soon enough._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Long chapter is long. And hopefully not too boring.

I personally have not played _Heavy Rain, _but I have seen walkthroughs where the FBI character has a device like that. And yeah, in the Marvel universe, a pair of glasses like that does not seem like a stretch. We need to give Sam something to do instead of just being the backup. (Tony has improved them, for sure. Just FYI.)

No Holly (save by brief mention) this time around, but I'm sure you aren't objecting too heavily. We'll see her next time.

By the way: you all came out in force last time, with your reviews and your kind words/follow/favorites of encouragement. It really warmed my heart, and makes me so glad that you all are keeping up with this story. Thank you all so much.

So, anyway, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next time!


	12. Chapter 12

A brief trek down the Atlantic corridor to Bucky's training base yielded very little by the way of results; as the base was still in operation, there was not much Steve and Sam could uncover without drawing attention to themselves. Steve dissembled, claiming that he was searching for a friend who'd been involved in the aftermath of the D.C. disaster, saying that he'd last heard he'd lived in the area and might have been around the base. The officers in charge, upon recognizing both captain and companion, were willing to provide any information necessary, so long as they did a meet-and-greet with the stationed troops. In between the photo opportunities and the handshaking, the colonel there revealed that a man fitting the description of Bucky had been spotted lurking around the base a week or two prior. Thought he was just some punk looking to cause trouble at first, but he kept his distance. Except once; camera surveillance showed a hooded man darting about the grounds one night, but the alarms had sounded and he disappeared without a trace. They hadn't seen hide or tail of him since.

"That's still something," Sam said, not overly cheerful but looking optimistic. Steve said nothing, but the hard set of his jaw was enough of an opinion on the subject.

The pair resigned themselves to returning home for a spell. Sam could only take so much time off from the VA every month, and Steve was, as he was a little perturbed to find, unwilling to venture forth without an ally at his back. He had thought he would not require any assistance in pursuing Bucky; as it turned out, he found some small comfort in having someone there to cover him, to help him along the way. Proceeding without Sam was too much like rushing headlong into an open field. Then would be the most likely time he'd be shot. Hopefully not literally. If Bucky truly suspected that he was being followed, so much the better to not be hounding his trail constantly. Whatever made him less hostile.

It also gave Steve time between calling in favors. Too many calls in too short a space? Not ideal, for anybody. Rousing more suspicion at this point was not something he wanted to contend with.

That in mind, he found that he could not simply sit around the house, waiting. Bucky's file was there, mocking him for not being as dedicated, for not being as great and good, as everyone thought he was. Two days after returning, two evenings really, Steve was clattering down the front steps, phone in hand, and jumping on his new motorcycle (an apology gift from the bigwigs for destroying his other one. He'd rather liked that bike, too, and it was a shame to have it banged up beyond repair). Sam, on a video call with the girl from reception (Tori, he thought he heard he called), shot him a questioning look as he swept out the door. He didn't trail after him, in any case. After punching in the correct numbers, he waited until the call was picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, you." Holly's voice came over the line, sounding pleased. They'd kept in contact while he was gone, trading texts when they had the time (which had Steve marveling at his growing prowess at doing so. Sure, it was still a bit of hunt-and-peck, but it didn't take him long just to say hello anymore). Primarily the conversation consisted of little shots about the day's actions and effects upon their separate lives, with an end discussion of when he would be coming home. There had been some talk about meeting up after they'd returned, but she didn't push it. Whenever he could, she'd said, and left it at that.

His lips twitched slightly, but he didn't indulge in a full smile. Well, he could now.

"Hi."

Something in his tone must have sounded hollow, or a little bit off, because concern entered her voice when she spoke again. "You okay? What's up?"

_'Not really,' _his brain supplied. To her, he said, "Are you busy right now?"

A brief pause came, broken swiftly by Holly's answer. "No, I'm not busy."

"I'm, uh, I'm ready. To meet up, I mean," he said, immediately chiding himself for stumbling over his words. He thought he'd gotten past that. He sighed, "If you have the time."

Her chuckle was very soft, as if she didn't want to offend him by finding his blundering humorous. "Like I said, I'm free. Got any ideas about what you'd like to do?"

"Not sure...just, something." Steve couldn't stay home, couldn't think there. And being alone, while not a foreign concept by any means, was not something he wanted at the moment.

"Well, come on over to my place, then. We'll figure it out from there."

The sun had sunk a little lower by the time he'd arrived at Holly's apartment complex. She'd met him outside, hand raised in happy greeting and a smile on her face. As he pulled the bike into the free parking space, she'd sauntered up to him her eyebrows quirking together.

"So it's you, me, and the shield, then, huh?" she queried, the corners of her mouth twitching up. He looked backwards, groaning under his breath; it was second nature to him to bring it nearly everywhere, even after falling out of the habit for a few weeks. During his weeks of enforced hiding, he'd kept it at home, safe in anonymity. He'd thought he'd left it at home this time, but no, there it was attached to a side harness on the motorcycle. But, he rationalized; he didn't want to take any chances without it. Not now, not with her.

"The almost-literal third wheel," he joked, laying his palm along the curve of it. Holly came forward, slipping her arms around him for a hug. She squeezed hard, glad to have him back safely for a time, and he reciprocated, albeit much gentler than her.

Pulling away, she continued to stare at it, hesitating. "Can I…can I touch it?"

Steve blinked, a little nonplussed by her request. Then again, he thought, she'd never actually gotten anywhere near the shield before this day, and it was natural for her to be curious. "Sure."

Sidestepping him, she crouched down, running her fingers over the painted bands before setting her hand flush against the star. A mixture of awe and delight came over her face, infectious to the point of bringing a tiny grin to his lips. "This is so cool. I'm touching history."

"Most girls would be impressed with the bike first," Steve said, kicking down the stand and getting off the vehicle. Holly smiled wide, her eyes glittering in the low sunlight.

"Yeah, well, never said I was like most girls, did I?" She rose up, standing straight. "It looks heavy."

Steve shook his head. "It's lighter than you think."

"Really." She shook her head, doubtful.

"Twelve pounds."

The look she threw him was skeptical; how could that disk be that light? Slowly, her eyes flicked from his to the shield and back, holding an unspoken question. In answer, he motioned with a free hand: _pick it up, see for yourself._ It wasn't like she was going to run off with it, and he trusted her to be careful. Not that she'd be able to damage it, but he knew that she'd treat it with respect.

As she pulled it free from its harness, he noticed that she had spread her legs and braced herself for the weight. The shocked expression she sported a second later made Steve snap his mouth shut on a laugh. She'd hauled boxes to the back room at work that were nearly triple the weight of the thing. After a moment, he told her about the shield properties, the vibranium alloy making it one of the strongest and lightest metals on Earth. She nodded, but he couldn't be sure she was processing what he'd said.

And in truth, she was; at least, she was backlogging what he said. Holly was taken aback by the shield, the ultimate symbol of her friend's superhero status. It had survived a world war, freezing Arctic temperatures, an alien invasion, and numerous missions and attacks. She wasn't one for weaponry or defensive items, but _damn_ this was cool.

Flipping it over smoothly, she slipped one arm into the inner holsters, loose on her less-muscled arm. Tightening her grip, she lifted it up in a defensive stance, trying to look heroic as she did so. Her exultation rather ruined the impression, she figured, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"What do you think?" she asked eagerly, unknowingly mirroring something Steve himself had said long ago, and triggering a sense of déjà vu in him. In her shorts and t-shirt, her Converse shoes on and her hair pulled into short braids, she hardly cut an impressive figure. "Totally fearsome, right?"

Shaking his head, partly to dispel the old memories, he smirked at her. "Hitler would be trembling."

That was such a gross exaggeration of possibilities that Holly couldn't help but snicker. Taking the shield off her arm, she proffered it back to its owner. "Yeah, from holding the laughter. Now, it's seven in the evening. What does the guy who supposedly punched out _der Fuehrer_ himself eight hundred times want to do?"

Steve shrugged, ignoring the poor German and not having really thought beyond the point of getting there to see her. "Don't know. Just needed to get out for awhile."

Taking that in, she couldn't blame him. There had to be a lot on his mind at present, and sitting and stewing never did anybody any good.

"Well, the Mall is open all day. We could walk for a bit. Walk, not run," she amended, earning a sharp glance from her companion. "You start running, I'll never catch up."

He agreed, as it was something to do, at least. She motioned for him to follow her to her car, which he did. The shield could come with that way, and be left somewhere safe for the time being while they walked. Riding passenger, he gazed out the window for a few long moments, listening to the music playing softly. Piano covers of Broadway musicals, she'd told him before popping it in and switching to a calm track. Silence fell over them as she drove, until another thought occurred to him.

"'Supposedly?'" Steve grunted, turning his head and catching her struggling to hide her giggles.

"There's this saying that's been going around for awhile: 'take pictures or it never happened,'" she said by way of explanation. "There aren't any pictures of you really hitting Hitler, except for those old cartoons. So..."

Her gaze flicked over at him briefly, in time to see him pull a face and roll his eyes. But the tell-tale half grin he sported told her all she needed to know, and so she returned her attention to the road. They swung through a McDonald's drive-through, picking up shakes to enjoy on their outing. There was little good-natured arguing over who would pick up the tab, but Holly firmly offered to pay. They were just milkshakes, she'd told him, and it wouldn't do any harm for it to be her treat this time. He took it with good grace, and tucked in with gusto. It amused her to know that even the largest size wouldn't put a dent in Steve's hunger. If there was anyone who perfectly fit the term of "bottomless pit" it would be him. Dang freaky fast metabolism.

Finding some parking proved a bit tricky, but with relative ease they found themselves striding towards the National Mall. The reflecting pool shimmered between the monuments as they prepared to take a couple laps around it.

_'It really is pretty here, during the summer,' _Holly thought, sucking down some of her vanilla shake. _'Better when you have good company.'_

And Steve was good company, even if he was at sixes and sevens, as her old English professor might have said. The back-and-forth chatting helped her, too, in a way. Steve was a good listener, a very valuable trait to have, she supposed, for someone who spent his life on guard and watching out for others. He wouldn't have gotten very far if he didn't take the time to hear what was going on around him. Although she conceded that he probably didn't anticipate listening to her knotty characterization problems, he was still a good sport about it. And she liked hearing him speak, too, when his turn came. She always did like his voice, deep and honest, with a touch of humor lurking in the background when needed. After the first lap, she scrolled eagerly through the pictures on his phone, the ones he took in his downtime in New York. She'd only been there once, for a special weekend excursion. It was beautiful, with all the big lights and huge buildings. Pausing on a picture of a goofy-faced Sam pointing up at the Stark Tower, she smirked. The overt grotesque expression was priceless.

"Oh, the blackmail material."

"His mother was rather taken with it, when I emailed it to her," Steve replied nonchalantly, downing some more of his milkshake. "I reckon it may be her Christmas card this year."

"Won't he be pleased." She swiped right, settling on a picture of Steve posing, rather grumpily, in front of a Captain America statue somewhere in Brooklyn. She snorted at that. "Probably about as pleased as you look here."

Steve looked over her shoulder, grimacing. "Sam insisted. Thought it'd be funny."

Discreetly, she tapped her finger along the screen, handing it back after another couple of minutes.

"What's the next stop on your whirlwind tour?" Holly wondered, injecting some levity in the serious endeavor.

Her companion pondered it for a moment, no doubt deciding whether it was safe for her to know."First England, and then to Italy. We think he's following along his service path, putting everything together that way."

She inclined her head, seeing the sense. "Step-by-step processing. Hopefully you'll catch up with him soon."

"So do I. I should've started sooner," Steve murmured. That arrested Holly's attention, making her focus on his stern features. She'd heard it: the guilt, the trepidation.

"Don't beat yourself up over this, Steve. It's not your fault," she tried to reassure him.

Instead of alleviating his guilt, the words seemed to make no impression on him."People keep telling me that. I wish I could believe them."

_'You should,' _she thought, fighting back a frown. After a short pause, she asked aloud, "Did you think what happened to your friend would happen?"

He clenched his teeth, but he answered calmly enough. "...No."

"No," she cut him off quickly, before he could interject another wave of self-doubt. "You didn't even know he was alive until a few months ago. You can't be blamed for being ignorant about something that nobody else knew, either."

And she was fairly certain of that. If anyone, _anyone_, friendly to the captain had known that the only friend from Steve's childhood had been taken, made into a dangerous person, they would've done something about it. Or at the very least made him aware of what happened.

"You don't understand," Steve said, a very real tenor of frustration and anger in his voice. "None of you do."

The first impulse she had was to glare, or retort hotly that of course she didn't understand. He wouldn't tell her anything he didn't think she needed to know; how could she understand if she was flying blind? However, she bit down hard on her lip, forcing herself to hold it in. This was about more than her, or Sam, or anybody else he cared to name, not being to realize why he felt guilty. What he was pushing on himself inwardly, he was beginning to project out, and she at least knew that.

"We are trying to, Steve," she let out, a modicum of irritation entering her voice. His bright eyes narrowed at her, shadowed in the coming night's darkness. Damn, she couldn't keep it all in. "We're all working with what you give us. Which, yeah, isn't a ton, but we do try."

The narrowing turned into a true glare, and he shook his head, hunching his shoulders against her words, almost against her presence. Neither said a word to one another for a long stretch, but then again neither man nor woman walked away from each other. Very few people were left on the grounds with them, as most were departing for home or hotels or another form of nightlife, so the quiet became almost deafening. Holly swallowed, taking in courage to finish her piece.

"Look, I know that my saying that doesn't make you feel any better, not really. But you can't be held responsible for mistakes that are not of your making," she almost whispered, her tone firm. "You're trying to do something good now. Concentrate on that."

Slowly, Steve's posture began to relax, digesting the words along with the last of his milkshake. She was right; it didn't make him feel better, not by much. However, he could see clearly that he was focusing on the wrong mindset, on the wrong emotions. Blame would get him nowhere, no matter what he believed to be true about it. And lashing out would definitely get him nowhere. His time had to be put towards a better use, a better philosophy.

A part of him would always feel guilty for his friend's fate. However, he could not flog himself for it anymore. It was futile, and pointless. It was more important to correct the wrongs of the past; that he did have control over, somewhat.

He breathed deeply, in and out, looking over the young lady to his right. Her face was set in mild annoyance, he could see the worry in her dark irises. She wasn't being intentionally snotty; she was genuinely concerned for his sake. He knew that, too. Waiting until she looked him fully in the eye, he nodded once, his concession. His acceptance.

"It's getting dark," he noted obviously. Passing a trash can, he tossed his emptied container into it, silently tossing Holly's as well when she passed it to him. "We should probably head back."

"Yeah," Holly responded, a little despondent. "We should."

"You...you do have the first three _Star Wars_ episodes, right?" Off her confused nod, he put his hands in his pockets and continued, "Would you care to watch them again tonight?"

_I'm sorry._

Mimicking his half grin, she turned it over in her mind. "I suppose we have time for Episode 1, at least. Just don't blame me if you run off screaming into the night because of Jar Jar."

_Already forgiven._

Not entirely certain of what she was talking about, he took it in stride. He'd get it later (boy, would he). Taking a step in the direction of her car, he stopped short and looked down at her again. In that moment, he seemed to come to a decision. Holding out his elbow, he was pleased when she slipped her hand in the crook with no hesitation. She trusted him to guide her, and he wanted to keep her near. Arm in arm, they traversed back to her vehicle and home, keeping close to one another, and banishing the outside world and its cruel thoughts, quests, and intentions for a time.

"What in the hell _is_ that thing?!"

Although, later on, Holly would maintain that most of the outer world had heard him yelling that at the screen when Jar Jar Binks showed up.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** ...I do like Episode 1 of the prequel trilogy of _Star Wars_. It was my introduction to the saga, after all. I'm just not a fan of Jar-Jar. The lightsaber duel/music for the lightsaber duel is epic.

Suffice it to say, I don't own the film or the mentioned character.

I have a hard time believing that Sam is able to just pick up and run off with Steve on his pursuit of Bucky, so there will be time where they are state-bound simply because unlike SOME people, he does have to work on occasion.

According to some online resources, Sam Wilson was born in New York City, so it makes sense to me that his mom would still be living there. And probably putting the boys up for the night while they go adventuring. Also, according to an online resource, it claims that Marvel has claimed that the shield weighs only 12 pounds. I was a little taken aback by that; I thought it looked much heavier. And because "light" is such a relative term when it comes to Steve, I had to actually look it up.

So, I'm running on the belief that the last chapter wasn't terribly popular with some of you. Or perhaps most of you are busy, and couldn't review. I don't know; I hope you guys just didn't hate it. Thanks, Guest. I'd have messaged you my thanks earlier, but alas, your voluntary anonymity!

I'm posting a little earlier this week than normal because I'll be starting a new job this weekend, and I wanted you all to not have to wait for it. (I now have three jobs. Pray for me.)

Thanks for reading, stop by again next time, and please review. Please do...please? Okay, I'll stop begging...


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